Chaos (2005) - A Retrospective

Now we know that we can't even be in our houses without
getting murdered, so we may as well end it all now.

Years ago, in my quest to find the world's most gruesome movies, I came across a little old picture by the name of Chaos (not to be mistaken for the Jason Statham movie of the same title and year). Chaos achieved perhaps more notoriety than it deserved when Roger Ebert was the first big critic to write about it, and he hated, hated, hated this movie. In a scenario not unlike that of The Brown Bunny, Ebert managed to land in a back-and-forth with filmmakers who were displeased with his take on their projects. He denounced the movie as "ugly, nihilistic and cruel", and I honestly can't think of three words that better sum up the vibe it gives off.

I first reviewed Chaos in a long-winded essay here and broke down in minute detail my problems with it. Dialogue was boring and for some reason often racist; the narrative was a near beat-for-beat retread of Last House on the Left; the last few minutes just insulted everyone from audience to characters. So perhaps as a result of deep-rooted self-loathing, I had a spare hour and watched it again today (it's a thankfully short movie, although it doesn't feel short enough), and felt the need to go into a few finer points that ultimately make Chaos as horrific as it is.

Within the first minute I realised that I was all geared up for round two of hating, hating, hating this movie, so had to make a conscious effort to lower my guard and try to see it through fresh eyes. The action leading up to the main plot point of the film - that being the killing of the girls - is all rather pedestrian and does the bare minimum required of it in giving us simple intros to our characters. The action following the killing of the girls is some of the most bewildering stuff I have ever seen. The second act, the top of our story arc, the money shot, is how the girls get done in, and even the more stoic horror goer may find this part simply too much. I always knew it was too much, but in all my rage and discomfort, neglected to consider why I felt that way.

This doesn't seem familiar in the slightest.

Chaos is entirely diegetic in terms of its soundtrack; that is, there is no score, sound editing or anything. It is just spoken word and muffled scream. It can often feel like watching a reel of dailies, though I assume the makers were going for the verite style which I have to admit they pull off to a pretty remarkable degree. There is accounting for angles and camera movement - this is not your conventional found footage - but other than this, it is a very raw experience in terms of composition. Almost no FX were required for what has to be one of the most gruesome films I've ever seen, and the knifeplay can't add up to more than one minute of the runtime, but a truly sinister and hopeless atmosphere is created, making what we watch all the more effective.

Our ring leader Chaos is played with terrifying realism, and at times apparent ease, by Kevin Gage. He is really ballsy with his performance and never once restrains himself or seems like he's even trying. There is a particular shot in which he goes to lug Angelica from the van, and simply grabs her by the back of her jeans and carry her like a bag of groceries. His take on this villain feels authentic, with wavering tempers and eerie coolness. He doesn't feel like a regular guy playing make believe, and I cannot imagine how uncomfortable a shooting experience this must have been for him and his co-stars. Gal pal Daisy feels similarly real as we see her stance and loyalties fluctuate throughout, and we manage to scrape just a sliver of sympathy together for her.

The girls Angelica and Emily (Maya Barovich and Chantal Degroat respectively) are what sell the film in terms of realism. I have often documented my dislike for horror actors who just can't convince me that they are in real pain or terror; there is movie screaming and then there is real life screaming, and the two are very different. Both actresses get to wail and scream and cry their hearts out, and it is their willingness to push their comfort levels and endure snotty noses and coughing dust that makes you engage more than you might with your average genre victim. What I liked the most in this sense - as disgusting as it is - is Degroat's almost lack of reaction when she is murdered. The pain exceeds the human body's capacity, and rather than scream, she just groans and screeches as the life drains out of her. I don't know how, but these actresses managed to deeply understand fear, physical and mental pain and portray them in a disturbingly real way.

Nor does this.

The lack of score where you feel there should be one (I noted a few occasions where any other movie would have obeyed specific musical tropes) manages to tie all the horror together and leave us no escape route. The movie somehow makes good use of the parent characters, by cutting back to them every now and then to give us time to breathe. This was what Craven was going for with the cop duo in his film, and in Chaos you can feel it full force -- it is actually a relief when the horrifically stereotyped black mother starts whining and chatting shit for a minute.

Director DeFalco managed to bag himself actors who were far, far better than his movie required them to be, but generally demonstrates that he does know what he's doing. It's just that he pulled his evil plan off so well that we have nothing to think about except how horrifying all of this is. When it's over you feel zero sense of satisfaction or really any emotion at all. It is a deadening slog of a movie that leaves you drained and no better for having watched it.

I didn't feel that Chaos was a particularly badly made movie the first time I saw it, but it had zero entertainment value in the traditional sense. Even the edgier 'torture porn' like the Saw sequels are exciting and enjoyable in their own funny way, but Chaos is just as bleak and deadpan as it gets. I notice this time around that it is a more competently made picture than I initially gave it credit for, and most of the choices made by the director seem fairly justified. At least up until the final sequence. But I maintain that it is a thoroughly uncomfortable, unsettling movie that has not a drop of fun or relief to offer its audience.

The Girl Next Door (2007)

Daniel Farrands has caused something of a stir in recent years with his choice of film projects. Last year he threw bees into so many bonnets that Nicolas Cage practically showed up to scream about his eyes, with the controversial Haunting of Sharon Tate. This year he has swiftly followed it up with The Murder of Nicole Brown, and with these two titles coming consecutively, people's ears have pricked at the not-so-subtle trend emerging. Farrands has been universally branded as a smut-peddler  thanks to these projects, and I was inclined to consider him such myself after watching Sharon Tate, but my research into that picture dragged up something a little odd.

A good ten years ago, my sister raved to me about "the most disturbing" movie she had ever seen, titled The Girl Next Door, and I didn't get around to seeing it until about 18 months ago. I was pleasantly surprised by this grimy and largely unheard of little movie, and in retrospect, it plays rather intriguingly as a part of Farrands' filmography.

This writer's choice to make films based on true crime events is far from recent. The Girl Next Door is taken from the crimes of Gertrude Baniszewski and her children towards Sylvia Likens, and while it never shies from the grit of the ordeal, it shows an incredible amount of craft and care -- almost sensitivity. I cannot help but wonder how, in the space of fifteen-odd years, Farrands' approach to filmmaking can have deteriorated so terribly.

Any bozo can string together 90 minutes of depravity and call it a movie, but not many manage to pull off true human horror in a way that feels real or relatable. Last House on the Left, Eden Lake and Creep are fine examples of well-crafted stories of man vs. man, and while The Girl Next Door may not be quite as competent a picture as these, it gives it a bloody good go, and delivers an unexpectedly strong and engaging look at child abuse.

Mom, you're blocking the TV!

Based on Jack Ketchum's novel of the same name, the movie is about two young carnival girls taken in by a single mother. Meg (Blythe Auffarth) and her sister Susan (Madeline Taylor) go to live at the home of Ruth Chandler (Blanche Baker) so that their carny parents can more freely make a living on the travelling circuit. Ruth is a smoky, emaciated mother of many adolescent children, whose house is always full of local kids. The narrative chooses to focus on David (Daniel Manche), a kid who hangs out at the Chandler residence, and tells the story from his perspective. This proves a very clever choice; not only does the audience endure the cruelty on screen, but considers it from the innocent stance of a child who is free to come and go as he pleases. There are some great little scenes in which David tries to broach the subject of Ruth's abuse to his parents, but doesn't quite know how to, or simply sits in silence alone, fretting over what should be done.

The strongest element of this movie is how the narrative handles the events. Many a lower picture simply shows us people inflicting cruelty on others and just expects us to believe in their reasons for doing so. When you hear of such a twisted true crime story on the news, often the toughest thing to comprehend is how things get to that point, particularly when multiple aggressors are involved. Who first suggests such crimes? What does one have to do, or say, to a person to get them to behave in such ways? In the real world, everything has momentum and contributing factors that move situations from A to B, and so if we are to truly engage with a movie like this, we have to understand the villains as real people and not caricatures of evil.

It's not as if Ruth and her children just randomly start torturing the girls the day they arrive. There is a slow build up, a series of escalating incidents that eventually lead to the abuse, and Farrands' writing is integral to this realism. Everyone likes to think that they would have the morality and strength to stand up to bad people and prevent them from doing harm, but human behaviour is complex and some people have the capacity to manipulate and influence others negatively. When defending the use of violence in movies, I sometimes use Game of Thrones as an example. If we hadn't been shown Joffrey's many escalating acts of cruelty, would we have understood him in the way that the characters around him did, and would we have felt satisfied by the end of his story? A good narratives fleshes out its antagonists in a way that uses them as more than a plot device or pantomime villain.

There is a largely unnecessary framing device that follows David in middle age, beginning with him witnessing a hit and run, and ending with his conviction to let go of his decades-old guilt. It's not a bad idea to try and give some indication of the long term effects of this trauma on David as our young narrator, but what it could have added to the picture as a whole is undermined by how rushed and tacked on it feels. The ending is rather abrupt, and the momentum of the drama might have been better served by simply scrapping the framing and brooding on the dark basement where the ordeal finally screeches to a halt.

Suck my fat one, ya cheap dimestore hood.

Acting is surprisingly good, particularly from Blanche Baker, and good use of colour and space is made to convey the freedom of wide open spaces and the rigidity of the house's four walls. There is a tangible sense of atmosphere, of time and place, in a way that reminds me of Stand By Me. The kids feel real, and do and say things that creatures unsure of who or what they are would. Against the backdrop of colourful '50s suburbia, the visceral goings-on in the house appear that much darker and dirtier. It's not a long or rambling movie, but it succeeds in crafting a very believable world in creative ways. 

The abuse inflicted upon the girls is upsetting and difficult to forget, so this is not an exploitation movie for beginners, but those with the stomach for such scenes and an appreciation for good writing will really dig The Girl Next Door. Meanwhile, Farrands should seriously go back to the drawing board with the way his career is going, and maybe take a Screenwriting 101 refresher course, as he seems to have forgotten everything.

Hostel (2005)

The 00s was an era of reimagining horror. 9/11 had a profound effect on almost every facet of modern life, and movies were far from immune. Not unlike the way the Vietnam war influenced a new chapter of horror in the early '70s, 9/11 brought real-life terror and gore to the forefront of the public conscience, and changed what viewers looked for in entertainment. Although action movies and TV serials scrambled to rearrange into a less close-to-home format, the horror genre leaned into it, and a new wave, later dubbed Torture Porn, was born.

The two key figures in the Torture Porn movement were Saw (2004) and Hostel (2005), each of which divided audiences in their ultra-visceral depictions of violence. Nobody around in the '00s can forget people asking "Did you see Saw?" before chuckling at their own comic brilliance, and talk of Hostel was hot on its heels. As a younger teenager during this period, I had to wallow in hearsay until each of the movies was released on DVD, and I clearly recall my first viewing of each. Hostel I acquired by taking advantage of my older boyfriend, and we watched it at his house with my sister. At the time I deduced it to be one half softcore porn and one half slasher gore with a nice memorable eyeball schtick, and have gone on since to develop a real fondness for it.

Each Eli Roth movie is a real character; some people can't stand his sophomoric blend of blood and humour, while others revel in his silly, in-your-face approach to making films. My sister and I have always been firm fixtures in the latter group, and share a particular fondness for the most divisive aspect of any Roth movie: the dialogue. If your patience is stretched by Roth's style, Hostel will be far from your cuppa soup, but those who enjoy a bit of silly humour in place of the pointless ramblings that usually open up earlier slashers find his style refreshing. Of course, Roth is also fond of elaborate practical effects, with which he likes to have a lot of gory fun. Anti-TorturePorners point out that violence doesn't equate to scare, which is certainly true, and that a good movie wouldn't have to resort to explicit violence, which I don't believe is true.

Beanie hat! 

Now what I do think is that violence and other forms of cruelty can be absolutely necessary to properly tell a story. Hostel doesn't deliver much real narrative to 'justify' its gore, as we are ultimately not really supposed to like or relate to any of the characters (another Roth trademark), but this doesn't mean there is no thought or perspective to it. Even if the audience doesn't explicitly notice that the movie's style is deliberate in its depictions of violence, they notice the effects.

Roth is far from a tactless filmmaker, and I think that his childlike enthusiasm for every single frame he shoots is his real strength. His work is always more than competent on a technical level, and all gore considered, he makes really good-looking and engaging movies. He is not looking to win any prestigious awards or merge his way into the Hollywood elite, but simply wants to have a really good time making the sorts of movies he would watch himself, and for other people to have fun watching them. For sheer entertainment value, Roth is always a safe bet for me.

World's most trustworthy travel agent

There is not a lot to say about the plot of Hostel, as the fun is in the experience as a whole, but let's give it a try. Paxton (Jay Hernandez) is backpacking across Europe with his meek friend Josh (Derek Richardson), and other tourist Oli (Eyþór Guðjónsson) has been picked up at some point in their travels. We meet them in Amsterdam, where they are busy doing what all good Roth characters do: partying. They get thrown out of clubs, dip in and out of whorehouses, and of course, refer to many things pejoratively as "gay". They come across a seriously weird-looking fella named Alexei, played by Lubomir Bukovy, who tells them that if they want the pure shit from source, they need to trek through the Slovakian wilderness to a village that is populated entirely by Page 3 girls and child thugs. The guys are all pretty stupid, so do they consider this trip a good idea? Of coursh, ma horsh.

While on the train to Slovakia, they are buttonholed by some geeky old dude (Jan Vlasák) whose defining characteristic is eating chicken salad with his twitchy fingers. When said fingers get a little too close to Josh's junk for comfort, the guys throw an all-American freak-out at the gayness of it all, and the Salad guy skulks away apologetically. In response to the sexual assault of their buddy, Paxton and Oli throw a few more homo jokes out for good measure. They arrive in the whore village and stay at a...*dun-dun-duuuuun* hostel, where they lament the lack of English dubbing on local television and how very gay it is that they have to share a room at a hostel. It soon becomes clear that the situation isn't quite so guy-on-guy as they had anticipated, when two hot women in their room invite them over to the spa.

The only time Paxton hated having balls in his mouth

So the partying is in full swing, but after the first night, Oli has disappeared. Paxton insists that this shouldn't spoil their fun, so they do some more partying, and the next day Josh is gone too. Curiouser and curiouser! All the locals are kinda shady, and a gang of kids mug people for such riches as bubblegum, but hey, it's probably just be because they're European.  In the course of trying to find the friend that actually matters enough to rouse his suspicions, Paxton is also set upon, revealing that this quaint little village not only has hot women and kid thugs, it also has millionaires who pay to torture foreigners in an abandoned building. And what's worse... they're all in on it! Ooh, faced!

What got under people's skin about Hostel and Saw was that they were more than just corn syrup and condoms full of sausage meat - they were presented in a vivid and immersive way that felt inescapable. Scores of slasher movies from yesteryear would throw lots of blood around, but rarely focused so hard on the suffering of those being minced. Hostel lingers on the victims of the situation, emphasising the experience of being tortured, tears and blood and vomit. None of the characters is a big badass who just tells their assailant what a "sick fuck" they are while having their limbs removed with table cutlery. They behave like real people, and show violence for what it really is - long, slow suffering.

It's the gayest movie in the fucking world!

Roth's tongue-in-cheek style does require a somewhat turbulent tone that may not make for comfortable viewing by all, but it functions as his charming little take on the genre that I can never help but enjoy and watch repeatedly.