Evil Dead - Film Review

        It's a bit later in the day than I would have hoped, but I have mitigating circumstances. My computer decided yesterday at 7pm that it would be really really fun to have a complete meltdown, with constant crashes and 'bluescreens' and all sorts of other fun computer-based activities. It culminated in my losing everything, basically and I have since spent the day putting things back onto my computer. So - as promised, and only just after Tuesday - my review of Evil Dead.

http://www.dreadcentral.com/reviews/evil-dead-2013

             Originally released in 1981, Evil Dead once again took to cinema screens on the 18^th of April 2013 (UK) Directed by Fede Alvarex and featuring a not-so-well-known cast, my initial reaction to this film was simply that I didn’t have much of a reaction to it at all, and if someone were to ask me what I thought of it, I actually found it difficult to verbalise my thoughts. (Short of ‘meh.’)

I didn’t review it straight away, as generally if I come out of a cinema feeling underwhelmed, I find that the film grows on me, and I end up thinking it’s great – or alternatively, I come to the realisation that the film was just bad in itself and I don’t agree with critics or the general public in such a case. However, after a significant amount of time, I still had no positive or negative adjectives for it, something which I noticed was a trend both among the people I saw the film with, and the general population of the internet.

Almost in desperation, I watched the 1981 original, directed by Sam Raimi. This changed my opinion of the 2013 remake considerably. In 1981, cinematic effects were just not what they are today, and it makes the most tense moments of the film almost laughable, with its genuinely terrible ‘possession’ make-up, and poor acting. (Actually laughable – I laughed) With regards to the possession make-up and general effects, the 2013 version wins hands down, with the demons being extremely creepy – moving into scary. However, the acting still leaves a little to be desired, with over-exaggeration of lines and all of those other horror movie tropes.  (Exaggerated screaming, making lots of noise when they could clearly benefit from being quiet, someone reading an ancient language which awakes demons despite glaring scribbled messages which state DO NOT SEE THIS, OR SPEAK IT OR HEAR IT, which would be some level of a deterrent to the average human being, especially one who is supposed to be intelligent, like Eric (Lou Taylor Pucci) is, but that’s a different rant. Then there’s the strong-willed individual calling the demon ‘motherf***er’ before brandishing a chainsaw, etc. etc. etc.)

Not obvious enough.
http://nitehawkhatched.com/2013/04/12/one-sentence-review-evil-dead-2013/

One thing which is a massive improvement in the 2013 version is the back story of the characters. Although I came out not knowing any of their names, and not really caring either; after watching the original, I can honestly say that Mia (Jane Levy) – the new version of Cheryl (Ellen Sandweiss) – as the initial unfortunate soul who runs into the wrong demon is far more logical in terms of the storyline. For one thing, she is a recovering drug addict, which makes her erratic behaviour more understandable, and of course makes it more logical that she’d not be taken seriously when she is terrified of what she has witness and been through.

Something else which I really thought was a great touch with the remake is the inclusion of a sort of prelude, in which we are introduced to the book which outlines the possession process and how to get rid of the demons. This was effective to me simply because it starts the film with an element of tension, which seemed to come out of nowhere in the original.

Despite these comparisons, I’m still not prepared to say that the 2013 remake is good; it absolutely is better than the original on many levels; however as a single entity, it still left me feeling distinctly underwhelmed. I found the blood too much - it made it all seem slightly less serious when it appeared to be a film which does take itself seriously. Overall, I’d give it two and a half pandas, maybe edging towards three if I really compare it to the original. I may watch this film again, and next time I may appreciate it more, however for now, I just don’t think it’s for me.    

That said, this...                              

http://www.totalfilm.com/the-evil-dead-2013

http://www.themaninthemoviehat.com/trailer-happy-what-watching-evil-dead/

        

            is far better make-up  

                           than this...

            Next Tuesday I'll be reviewing a book which is about 30 years old, but I love it and I think it needs to be spoken about, especially since the author is one of my biggest literary heroes and he died a couple of months ago. 

                       Anyway! See you Thursday (which is technically tomorrow by now) and sorry for being late,

                                                               thanks for reading, Laura

                                                                                            xoxoxox

The Following - Part 3

         I feel like this is a big achievement, I made you a quasi-promise and actually followed through on it. Here, as promised, is part 3 of The Following. 

http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/rain%20at%20night

                I woke up from my nap and realised that I’d been sleeping for longer than I meant to, as the streetlights were piercing the darkness of my apartment. The photo of her that I keep in a silver frame was just a cube of light at the end of my bed. I picked it up and replaced it on the shelf. I smiled to myself at the sight of her face and then turned away. I could hear water hitting the window, and the way the moon was coming through a small gap in the cloud cast a pale blue light over everything, making it easy for me to manoeuvre in the dark.

                I took the skittles from the side. I’d made sure to buy sour ones, because I knew she liked those best. I put my shoes back on and tried to decide between my coat and my umbrella. In the end, even though it was still around 24^oC outside, I reasoned that my coat would take up less room.

                It was raining heavier than I thought outside. I glanced up to see that her bedroom curtains were still closed, but the living room curtain were open and I could see the light from the TV screen flickering into the bleak night air. I pushed the skittles into my pocket and ran across the road to the foot of her building. I went to the back and began climbing the ladder there. I went up three floors and climbed from the metal landing onto the guttering. It was slippery tonight, but I’d anticipated that and had work shoes with more grip than usual. I’d learned that from past errors.

                From here, I sidled along the guttering until I came to her balcony. I climbed onto it silently and crept round to the French doors. I peered in at them; him sitting upright on the far left of the sofa, her cuddling into him. I sat cross-legged outside and realised I’d forgotten my camera. I cursed, but came to realise that due to the rain, I wouldn’t have been able to get a clear shot. Instead, I took out my skittles and began to eat.

                When the film finished, I started to leave, however he got up and put another one in. Although I was soaked to the bone and further, I decided to stay for the second one, to make up for missing the first half of ‘Taxi Driver’. I had a few skittles left anyway; I’d normally have eaten them faster but the darkness was making it difficult to see what colour I was eating, and I like to eat them in order. On his way back to the sofa, his eyes flicked to the window, and I think he almost saw me, because his gaze rested there for a moment, before she distracted him. When he looked back, I’d put my head down and had jammed my hands into my pockets, so that to him, I may just resemble a bin bag, or nothing at all. It worked, because when I slyly lifted my head around a minute later, he had resumed his position on the left of the sofa and was playing with her hair to the opening of ‘Fatal Attraction’.

                                      Sorry for spamming you! Thanks for reading anyway, you're swell!

                                                                           Laura

                                                                                  xoxoxoxoxox

Flood

            Well Hi! I don't remember the last time I posted, I just remember lying to you about how I was going to tell you all the things I'm crazy about. Anyway, I wrote this piece a while ago. We were told to write 'a horror story', and I didn't feel like writing about blood, so I took a different spin on the term 'horror story'. I tried to make it really sentimental, and it's actually really close to my heart because the story of the flood behind it is true. I have also been to the place where this happened countless times, and the local people still seem to be reeling from it, and are happy to tell you all about it. It's a small, seaside town in England called Lynmouth, in Devon.

The rain started an hour ago. I can hear the river rising, and from my chair, I can almost see the top of it. There are reports on the news that we’ve so far had about a months-worth of rain, and it is showing no signs of stopping. This seems so unreal. I look at the calendar, checking the date. 15^th of August, 1952. How can it rain so heavily in the middle of the summer?

                There is no-one outside, understandably. The atmosphere is dark; I don’t just mean the mood, I mean the actual air. I think if you caught some air from outside in a jar, and held it under a lamps, you’d see dark blue and grey swirling around inside.

                The sound of the water hitting the roof and the windows is deafening. I can’t hear the television anymore; I’m not sure I want to.

                I can hear something louder than the rain coming; a roaring, angry sound and it’s coming for all of us. I can hear what sounds like walls falling – almost exploding – I want to look out of my window and make sure the village is still intact, but I can’t move from my seat.

                In seconds, I’m glad I didn’t move from my seat; the river has fought its way out of it banks, and is raging through the village, pillaging. My front wall moved away from its foundations and exposes me to the elements. The wind punches me in the gut and throws my photos from the walls. Memories lay scattered on the floor, a flurry of rain is also brought in and speckles the broken glass.

                A tear rolls down my cheek. I look to my wife who is sitting in the armchair beside me, she places her hand in mine and squeezes her eyes shut, letting a tear roll down her wrinkled cheek, mirroring mine. I look at our hands, seeing in every wrinkle and little brown spot, all of the times we laughed, cried, sang. I notice how her wedding ring is still in pristine condition; it’s so true of her character.

                The water level is rising across our living room and I can hear another onslaught coming, from further upstream. I look to my wife again; her eyes are still closed and I think she’s praying. I raise her hand to my lips and kiss is gently, one last time.

                The river rushes into what is left of our home, taking the television, the coffee table, my wife and I.   It feels like a betrayal; the river we have lived next to for the last thirty years, and have loved all of our lives is ruining us. It saw our love blossom, saw our children born, raised, married. It’s taking away everything we ever had. It can take whatever it likes; I won’t let go of Mary.

                                                                                 ***

                The next morning, when the rain had stopped, the clean-up began. Thirty-nine buildings had been destroyed, leaving thirty-four people dead. A single policeman had driven for miles in the night to get to the nearest phone, calling in reinforcements. The people who survived came out of the buildings which still stood, and began to pick up the people and buildings who didn’t. It was thought that the little seaside town had experienced over three months of rain during the night, causing devastation which would be talked about, fearfully and speculatively, for over sixty years after the event. The damage can still be seen along parts of the river, with small front walls, and steps up the side of the bank; preserving the memory of the people who were lost in the flood. 

             Drop me a comment if you liked it, or if you didn't - I changed the settings a while ago so that anyone can post comments - not just people with google+ accounts, and I'd love to hear from you.

             

            Thanks for reading, Laura!

                                           xoxoxox

Something Old...

         I thought I'd take a moment to share with you a poem I wrote about four years ago. (I took a while to think about how long it had been and then it scared me.) It's based on the story of Macbeth which is by William Shakespeare, and not by me at all, in any way shape or form. (just for legalities, should there be a need) It was a class assignment to 'transform a text', this is not what I ended up using for the coursework, but I'm still pretty proud of it, given how early on in my writing 'career' this was. It's not as long as it looks, and it's from the point of view of the witches. I hope you find some element of whimsy in it.

We three witches always meet,

Sun or thunder, hail or sleet.

We plot and plan and laugh and cackle,

Our foes will end up dead or shackled.

We hate the king; he’s not so noble,

Poisoned his father, frog’s eyes and toadstools.

He used our knowledge to gain his power,

Then he cast us out, began to cower;

He couldn’t pay us for what we showed,

And now we’ll collect the debt he owes.

Macbeth is kind but somewhat weak,

His wife has power but acts so meek.

We can see Macbeth is fighting,

For his king; his love undying.

When he and Banquo cross the heath,

They’ll know not what lies beneath;

Our crooked smiles and twisted tales,

Our evil traipsing through the vales.

We want to use him to gain vengeance,

We’ll waste no time with moral repentance.

We looked to the future and witnessed with glee,

Macbeth had power! His king deceased.

We conjured a plan, just us three,

Aided too by Hecate;

To tell Macbeth of what’s to come.

But he shall know not how it’s done;

We’ll go away and leave them to it,

But from a far, we’ll see him do it;

Kill the king and blame another,

His heirs will then go undercover,

Leaving a clearing for Macbeth,

To rule as king until his death.

Then we shall disappear in smoke,

And they shall take it as a joke.

We shall go to the underworld,

And watch as callas acts uncurl.

We’ll laugh at him, watch him suffer,

His wife shall leave him, so shall others.

He’ll give his all to take the crown,

And that will be what brings him down.

          So, that was that. I hope you liked it a little bit. Lots of love, and thanks for reading <3

                                                                                 Laura xoxoxoxox