Festival Coverage by Zach Dennis
On October 26, 2019, the Chattanooga Film Festival presented six feature films and 11 short films to celebrate the Halloween season. Zach was unable to attend the festival in person, but was able to watch two features and five of the shorts remotely.
The Furies (2019) by Tony D’Aquino
Designed to be what seems like an elevator pitch of “feminist Most Dangerous Game,” The Furies seems a little too half-baked to fully come together as a satisfying experience.
While there is a strong interest in making a point on female empowerment, the film seems a little too invested in itself to come to grips with that.
Following Kayla (Airlie Dodds), the movie abducts and then plops her into a remote forest where she emerges from a box labeled “Beauty #6.” She, and a handful of other women, have been placed in the area to be chased by a medley of masked killers. Kayla slowly uncovers bits of the grotesque Hunger Games-esque scenario, such as the tracking chip implanted in their heads that keeps them confined to the territory while also doubling as a camera for male viewers. But that, along with the aforementioned feminist-lens that is being planted here, never seems to coalesce.
As Kayla comes into contact with other women in the area, and they all begin to understand the mysterious game they’re now apart of, the film shifts into a plotline that focuses on the (in the movie’s opinion) thin-line between the alliances of these women. As the narrative opens up more, it is clear that each masked killer is aligned with one of the women so the goal is to either kill the monster or kill the woman.
This adds the caveat that the women are now not only fighting these masked monsters, but are also fighting themselves as (in the movie’s logic) killing one of the women is much easier than having to fight with the brutish beasts.
This is about where the movie began to get lost in its message, something about following the strand of “you can’t trust anyone —- even other women!” seems misguided. The plotline is played as a revenge narrative with Kayla eventually making her way out and seemingly starting a vengeance tour against the men in charge of crafting this sycophantic game, but the nature of getting there never seemed to vindicate its path.
Is it more empowering to have the female characters come to this realization and then leave it? Or is the true empowerment in saying something tangible with this narrative and using the horror plot to play out what we would like to see in our own society?
It seemed to lean more to the former —- inhabiting old, tired horror tropes we have seen before — while also using a bit of the latter to add some current politics gravitas. The Furies never really festisizes its characters, but for a movie that includes a fetish-adjacent plotline, it also never really removes that quality from the overall narrative.
At the end, it leaves you with more questions than answers: these men are bad, but women are crazy too so we can’t trust anyone? It may not have the fetish angle in how the camera leers over the women, which might be the validation the filmmakers need to giving it a feminist credential, but the movie also doesn’t elevate itself from old horror habits, and for that, it seems to be just as infected as any other, non-feminist horror that isn’t trying to make its statement.
Karaoke Night (2018) by Francisco Lacerda
Ugh.
The first of four shorts I watched for the festival, Karaoke Night feels most headed towards a late-night, teenage dare on YouTube than anything I could say I’ll seek out again. Carrying the shortest runtime of all of the short films, the movie follows a pair of sleazy tourists who are trying to live out their best lives while at a karaoke bar in the Azores.
It doesn’t follow up that way, ending with the not-so unfortunate demise at the end of their night.
I don’t have much to say about this. It’s very short. It carries a lot of neon as if it were farted out of the minds of Drive or Atomic Blonde. A man is killed after an alien penis devours his asshole.
Come see, come saw.
The Boogeywoman (2019) by Erica Soggins
The concept of “The Boogeyman,” or in this case, The Boogeywoman, is about a phantom on the periphery — a concept that never comes to fruition, but its very nature keeps you guessing and conjuring up your own images, those more horrific than the actual apherition.
The same could be said about the impeccably-directed short film, which is aided by Erica Scoggins’ deft hand that never overtly hands you the horror at its core, but constantly offers you samples of a much larger, scarier picture — more satisfying because of its opaqueness.
Centering on Sam (Amélie Hoeferle), who has just had her first period, the film follows her as she navigates this defining moment of her ascent into womanhood that is coupled with the terror of revealing herself to those around her. Scoggins mines the terror from the natural fear of opening yourself up — in this case with very personal details about her growth — and the weaponization of that information.
This isn’t a new trope, nor is it one original to the horror genre (there are some nice calls to Carrie in Sam’s narrative), but Scoggins’ keen eye makes this worth seeking out.
She scans spaces, which allows us, as the audience, to get a sense of what is around us but like the titular character, we don’t seem to get any sort of closure in the horror of the story. Instead, we are left to our own interpretations, and this directing style is something foreign to most contemporary American horror films.
Scoggins directs so detached, allowing her images and spaces to conjure up horrific conclusions in our head.
There could probably be more to explore in this story, maybe even something feature length, but there is a contentedness with what is presented in the short amount of time. The real takeaway is that someone should allow Scoggins to explore other horror themes on a feature length level as she is a director to watch.
Allergic Overreaction (2019) by Zachary Eglinton
A cynical reading of Allergic Overreaction could place it as nothing more than an SNL digital short audition. It’s not terribly ambitious in its plot — a group of friends meet up to marathon a set of horror movies, only to discover that one of the friends with a nut allergy has been chowing down on the nut-laced cookies brought over for snacks and leads to the allergic friend becoming a Michael Myers-esque slasher with a terrible vengeance.
But that wouldn’t be doing the horror comedy its justice.
It’s true that Allergic Overreaction is relatively straight forward, but writer/director Zachary Eglinton imbues the short with an affection for Halloween, Alien or any other killer on the loose, 70s or 80s vintage horror. The smart move was to lean more on the motions of these films, and not go for a straight carbon copy of the hits we know.
Eglinton, and his performers, use the language of these slashers to inform the absurdity of a nut allergy causing their friend to erupt into the living embodiment of Jason (one of the films placed in their marathon). Instead, they take the preposterous plot and allow it to be used as a device to show the current relevancy of the slasher sub-genre while also crafting a very charmingly funny tale of a doomed marathon night.
It could be read as some commentary on a much more observant culture to these types of illnesses, but the reaction of the friends and the one who is allergic plays more into the fluidity of all of their alliances to one another than anything much deeper —- and that’s a benefit.
It may have the sheen of an SNL digital short, but Eglinton shows that a much larger satire could be viable with this framework in place.
The Haunted Swordsman (2019) by Kevin McTurk
Very much on brand, if I do say so myself, but my favorite from the options I watched for this horror film festival was probably the most unconventionally non-genre horror film of the lot. The Haunted Swordsman, which is even as interesting behind-the-scenes as it is on the screen, is a short excerpt from a larger tapestry but also completely sells you on a concept that desperately needs to be seen in its fully-realized glory.
Crafted by writer/director Kevin McTurk, the film is what seems to be the opening sequence to the story of the Swordsman (voiced by Jason Scott Lee), who is on a quest to avenge the loss of the woman he loves and the temple he called home. Along with him, in true mystical guide fashion, is the Navigator (voiced by James Hong) who is a decapitated head instilled with doing what most tremedatious guides do — doubt the mission, the hero and wish to be put out of his misery.
The key to the charm, and magical nature, of The Haunted Swordsman though is the use of puppets for the characters and the landscape. Much more in tune with Jim Henson or Anamolisa rather than the work of LAIKA, the near photo-realism of the characters adds to the appeal of the narrative. Everything feels out of time and space, and as if you are surfing through the mind of Joseph Campbell rather than trying to recreate a worldspace you’re most familiar with.
There is that Henson-esque inventiveness to the various locations, as well as the horrific villains such as the Onibaba Woman (voiced by Franka Potente) who the hero and his guide come across --culminating in a final confrontation with a mighty ghoul and some advice from the Black Monk (voiced by Christopher Lloyd).
McTurk mentions the work of Akira Kurosawa, and films such as Ugetsu and Kwaidan, as some of his inspirations and the first chapter of the story seems very in tune with those comparisons. The story has this almost mythic quality —- maybe due to the artistry of the puppets and set, but also in the lived-in quality of the various characters and their connection to a larger folk tradition.
It feels real, dangerous and terrifying, which while not as traditionally in line with what the other movies would probably classify as horror, seems much more promising and inspiring to me than any of the other works in this festival. We need to find more insipration and magic in the work — something LAIKA does very well in their stop-motion films — but The Haunted Swordsman feels like a new realm opening up, and I want more of it.
Wrinkles the Clown (2019) by Michael Beach Nichols
Inspired by the surreal revelation that a masked clown under the name Wrinkles the Clown was taking calls from people to scare their children, this documentary initially wants to explore what started that phenomenon in southern Florida, and led to a more national recognition of the story, but its pursuit of real-or-fake narrative a la F is for Fake lacks any of the intuitiveness of what Welles accomplished and becomes a muddled attempt at speaking through the Internet age.
We first come into contact with Wrinkles the Clown, who is living out of a van somewhere in Florida and constantly fielding phone calls and texts due to his notoriety as the go-to clown for children fright. A piece in The Washington Post elevated him from being a more cult hero in South Florida, but he tells the documentarians he would not like to have his identity revealed in case anyone wants to retaliate — as many people disagree, and are angry, with his trade as there are that find it entertaining.
From here, the film shifts to focus on a number of teenage kids who have found a niche for themselves on YouTube. To its credit, the movie takes time to explore what about YouTube and that video culture attracted these kids to not only seek out Wrinkles, but document their own horrors on their channels — engaging with the openness of the Internet to invite groups and clubs for outsiders looking for somewhere to call home.
There’s something productive to that conversation. I never felt like the movie was trying to condemn these kids for their actions. Instead, it seemed more intent on creating a bridge or parallel to the connection YouTube creation culture has to the very bare nature of storytelling and folklore in general. Folklorists become talking heads and lament on how the art of delivering a story has changed — not in affecting the person, but in its delivery system.
From here though, it drops the narrative in favor of a switch-up between who we the audience perceived to be Wrinkles and the actual Wrinkles (a person hiding behind a muffled voice and dark lighting set-up). Initially, there was some concern over the person who was portraying this clown committing these acts as we witness him as a much more dangerous version (or at least one would like to believe) outcast than the YouTube kids looking for community, and one that has a strong drinking habit, among other vices.
Here, the movie diverts into saying something insightful about Internet culture at large, and becomes more enamored with punking the audience and their expectations. Which is really unfortunate as the initial concept of the connection between traditional folklore and storytelling to a more digital version was at least interesting on many levels.
Wrinkles the Clown rather turns into a more condemning version of these communities, pulling the rug out of their initial thesis and replacing it with a half-baked punk out.
There could be more to say about YouTube culture and the creators — much like the teenagers in the documentary — has to do with modern storytelling and the spread of information, but Wrinkles the Clown is much more interested in the pastiche of its figure than the mode of his creation.