[Film Review] The Conjuring

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Nearly every horror film that is released nowadays bills itself as "the scariest movie", either of all time, or that particular year. It's hardly surprising - after all, horror is one of the few genres that is focused on how they make the audience feel, as opposed to being clustered according to theme or iconography. The problem occurs because how scary a film is can be a difficult thing to judge - what terrifies me does not necessarily terrify you, and even if we're terrified by the same thing, there's no guarantee that we'll find it frightening when we see it on screen.

That being said, I do think The Conjuring can lay some sort of claim toward being one of the creepiest films of recent years. Director James Wan might be responsible for Saw, and thus the tedious succession of torture-porn-lite sequels, but having begun to explore the supernatural side of horror with Insidious in 2010, he now has a go at a period piece horror. The Conjuring is set in the 1970s, and based upon a true story surrounding Ed and Lorraine Warren, prominent ghost hunters and demonologists who also investigated the Amityville case. Patrick Wilson plays Ed, while Vera Farmiga plays Lorraine. Despite their scientific and methodical approach, the couple's brand of ghost busting relies heavily on their Catholic backgrounds, as well as upon Lorraine's clairvoyancy. This is not a film that wants to leave any ambiguity as to whether these things are real - as far as The Conjuring goes, this might as well be a documentary. 

The Perron family buy a house in Rhode Island at auction, and promptly move in, excited by their spacious new home. This being a horror film, settling in is not destined to be easy, and after discovering a boarded-up basement, things start going wrong in the house. Carolyn, played by Lili Taylor, finds herself covered in mysterious bruises, while the five daughters are either pulled out of bed by an invisible force or speak to people that no one else can see. Carolyn realises something is afoot, and contacts the Warrens for their help. The couple investigate, and must tell the family the grim truth, that their house isn't haunted by a ghost, but rather an inhuman spirit. In order to qualify for an exorcism, evidence must be gathered, and the family must wait it out while the spirits do enough damage to persuade the authorities that this isn't just a pesky poltergeist. 

Just as Paranormal Activity purported to be about ghosts but instead went with the demonic, so The Conjuring eschews ghostly goings on in favour of diabolical intervention. It essentially takes the worst parts of Poltergeist and combines them with The Exorcist, all while reminding you that this actually happened. It would be incredibly easy to dismiss it as cinematic fluff, but in all honesty, I found some of the scenes quite harrowing, not necessarily because of the phenomena depicted, but because I actually cared about the characters. I've done paranormal investigations myself and I've never been thrown across a room or seen mysterious figures in mirrors, but that doesn't mean I can't feel for a mother who's been locked in her own basement by someone she can't even see. I'm also uncomfortable with the insistence that all of this activity is the result of demons - naturally a belief in demons requires a belief in God - but I'll go with it for the sake of the film.

A lot of the reviews of the film keep picking flaws based on how 'true' the film is, but I think that's to miss the point. Even if the entire thing is made up, it doesn't follow that it'll be a bad film. Mary Shelley dreamed Frankenstein and it hasn't stopped the story from being a success, has it? James Wan has proven he can direct a film with little/no gore, and very few special effects, although the insertion of the Warrens' famous Annabelle case just seemed like an excuse to shoehorn yet another weird doll into one of his films. The performances all round help to make The Conjuring feel like a real family drama, as opposed to the usual melodrama that accompanies modern hauntings. It's not scary in the slightest, but it's downright creepy - and in my book, that's harder to manage.

5 blunt pencils out of 5

#FridayFlash - The Flee Market

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Ground smog swirled around the feet of the traders as they set up their stalls. A clock chimed in the cavern of the marketplace to announce the early hour. Humans and trolls lurched back and forth, rubbing sleep from their eyes as they laid out their wares on grubby cloths.

Vyolet lurked in the shadows at the edge of the vault. The Flee Market was a tempting target for a Shadowkin, particularly at four in the morning. The so-called militia, little more than local thugs collecting protection money from the traders, wouldn't arrive until five, and the traders were too distracted by setting up to notice a disappearing bread roll or hunk of cheese. The militia would light the lamps, making shadows scarce, but until then, Vyolet could come and go as she pleased.

Vyolet stole through the shadows in the arches leading down to the docks. Ferrymen carried crates up the steps from the canals, and a gaggle of fishwives trudged along the narrow quay behind them. Vyolet peered into the baskets they carried on their hips, but their treasure didn't interest her. It was mostly worthless detritus fetched by their husbands from the Distant Sea.

She passed an alchemist's stall, and frowned. He wore a pin in the lapel of his threadbare frock coat, and the insignia was that of the local DWS group - Down With Shadowkin. Vyolet fought the urge to tear the pin from his coat as she passed, but instead, she filched a small bag of sleeping sand from his table while he looked the other way. Few in the Underground City had any love for the Shadowkin, but without their abilities, the spy network that kept the City Above at bay couldn't operate.

If it wasn't for rogues like me... Vyolet began the thought, but she couldn't finish it. What was the use in being a rogue when she was forced to steal food from the market between jobs? Still, the Flee Market was a den of opportunity. Named for its status as a haven for those fleeing justice, the vast square, with its vaulted roof and bright green lanterns, was Vyolet's favourite place in the city.

Vyolet spotted a disenchanter across the aisle, and flattened herself against the wall beside his table. The shadow was narrow here, and she barely managed to squeeze herself into the blackened rectangle. She watched him remove the enchantments from cheap tourist wares, separating the imitation esoteric items from their magical sparks. The items ended up in a huge basket behind him, but the sparks went into neatly labelled bottles on the table. One of the items was a scarf, and Vyolet snagged it from the basket while the disenchanter busied himself with a wooden replica of the Abandoned Chapel. She tied it around her hair in the fashion of the worker women from the Trade District, but she knew her shifting skin colour and purple eyes would give her away as a Shadowkin.

Her stomach grumbled as Vyolet wandered among the stalls, sneaking from shadow to shadow, trying to spot a food stall. She passed stalls selling boots, fabric, magical equipment, broken furniture and even books, but no food. The clock chimed again to mark the quarter hour, and panic coloured Vyolet's hunger. She hadn't eaten since the day before, and she didn't have long before the militia arrived. They were all card carrying members of the DWS group, and would take great delight in ejecting her from the market - or worse, ejecting her soul from her body.

Vyolet passed under the vast clock, the only way to tell the time underground, and saw she had just five minutes until the militia arrived to patrol the market. She gazed across the sea of stalls and her heart leapt to see a baker reach his stall. He carried a large wicker basket on his back, while two goblins carried smaller ones behind him. She used the shadows between the cobbles of the floor to cross the open square in the centre of the market, and hid in the shadow cast by the awning of his stall. The goblins dumped their baskets and trudged off in the direction from which they had come, leaving the baker to set up alone.

Vyolet seized her chance and grabbed two fresh rolls while the baker laid out long plaited loaves. She got three yards away from the stall when a large hand landed on her shoulder. The chubby fingers forced her to turn around, and she looked up into the heavyset face of a militia runner. He wore the enchanted goggles that allowed him to see her, even in the shadows, and a lopsided leer that made her blood run cold.

"Thought you'd get away, did ya?" He leaned in towards her, and the smell of his breath turned her growling stomach.

Vyolet saw two more runners on the far side of the square. She twisted out of his grip and threw the rolls across the square, smacking two goblins in the back of the head. They turned on each other, and the runners busied themselves with breaking up the fight. Before the runner could raise the alarm, Vyolet dipped her hand into the pouch on her belt and withdrew a fistful of sleeping sand. She blew it into the runner's face, and melted into the shadow cast by his vast bulk as he fell to the ground.

Vyolet streaked across the market, dipping and weaving through the shadows cast by early shoppers. The distracted runners realised what had happened, and their shouts echoed between the stalls. She didn't dare stop to grab more food - escaping with her life seemed more important than her hunger.

She reached the docks and skipped across the canal in the shadows cast by the wall of the marketplace. As she fled into the sewers, she couldn't help thinking the market was well named after all.

Original image by Sankla1. Edits by me.

Announcement - New Book Coming!

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I think anyone who knows me knows that I have a bit of a thing about mummies. You can keep your vampires and werewolves, if there's a bandaged critter lurking somewhere - I can't actually get away from them, either. If I go to a museum, I'll always end up finding the mummies. I love them! I've posted a fair few mummy stories as part of my Friday Flash activity over the past few years, and now I'm pleased to say that I've managed to place a novella featuring mummies with a publisher!

The Necromancer's Apprentice is my retelling of the fabled Sorceror's Apprentice, only it replaces the sorceror with a necromancer, and the overly helpful brooms with blood-lusting mummies. It also features dog-headed men, a fight scene involving a scythe, and a pterodactyl. It's partly set in the Underground City which has appeared in a few of my Friday Flashes (click here if you want another look) and partly in the City Above, where the hapless apprentice ends up working in the House of the Long Dead. I'm not overly sure if it's horror, or dark fantasy, but I'm pitching it as somewhere between the two.

I'm really excited to announce that Dark Continents Publishing, who also published Nerine Dorman's Inkarna and Rab Swannock Fulton's Transformation, will be putting out The Necromancer's Apprentice through their Darkness and Dismay division. My ace new editor, Nerine Dorman, reckons I'm the twisted version of JK Rowling. I'll leave it up to you to decide if you agree when it comes out!

In the meantime, expect more Underground City stories, and definitely more mummies...

#FridayFlash - Broken Windows

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When we used to watch the apocalypse on TV, we always saw people finding shelter. Old schools, houses, hospitals - anywhere you could lay your hat. Domesticity was restored in unlikely places - heck, plenty of post-apocalyptic shows had people living in houses beset by zombies, while their lawns always looked freshly mown. We all figured "if it ever happens, we'll be fine. Don't worry."

Then the apocalypse happened, like some of us always suspected it would. It wasn't fine - far from it. Sure, we found places to hide out, to get out of the punishing sun and away from the hundred-mile-an-hour gales that threw sand in your face. But we didn't think about the windows. When we went looking for new homes, we couldn't find buildings with glass intact. The walls kept out the sun, but the wind? You need windows to shelter from that.

So we did what we could. We boarded some windows up, or made makeshift shutters. Occasionally we'd duct tape the larger pieces of glass together, but some windows ended up more tape than glass. Mostly we used tarpaulins we hauled out of the vans that didn't run any more, or plastic sheeting we found in skips or abattoirs. Bin bags were especially useful, and they became a weird kind of currency as we hunkered down in our reclaimed homes, squatting in town halls and shopping centres, trying to reboot society with whatever we had to hand.

It's funny, we used to watch the world through television screens. Now we watch it through plastic sheeting.

Original image by beermug. Edits by me.

[Film Review] The World's End

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It's hard to believe that it's some nine years since the first of the so-called 'Cornetto trilogy' was released, with Shaun of the Dead providing a British take on the zombie genre. Some three years later, in 2007, Hot Fuzz did the honours with its combination of action movie heroism and Midsomer Murders 'weird village'. The World's End is a peculiar hybrid of the two, with a helping of Invasion of the Body Snatchers for good measure.

Simon Pegg plays Gary King, a somewhat unlikeable guy who's never matured from the seventeen year old who once attempted the so-called Golden Mile, a pub crawl that takes in twelve pubs as it wends its way through the small town of Newton Haven. His four friends have all grown up and gotten proper jobs, and started families, but Gary still lives for the night that they never finished the Mile. Apparently the idea came from a pub crawl director Edgar Wright once started but never finished, and he liked the idea of a quest that was never completed. Gary certainly treats it as such, as though to conquer the Golden Mile would allow him to, in a way, conquer the version of himself that has never allowed him to move on with his life. In an attempt to get closure, he manipulates Andy (Nick Frost), Oliver (Martin Freeman), Peter (Eddie Marsan) and Steven (Paddy Considine) into accompanying him on one last hurrah.

One of the things they've said about the film in interviews is that "you can never go back" (which I think isn't true as I returned to Newcastle after seven years in London and fitted back in), and the point here is that the friends find it difficult to enjoy the pub crawl as they think they've changed too much since leaving the town. After a brutal fight in a pub toilet, they soon discover that it's not them who has changed - it's the town. The inhabitants have been replaced by what they believe are robots, which leads to several debates in which they attempt to come up with a name for said 'bots' ("Smashy smashy egg man" is a particular classic). Can they get out of town before they're replaced themselves? More importantly, can Gary finally finish the Golden Mile?

I can honestly say that I half-detested Gary for the first third of the film or so - but I think in some ways that's the point. It's never made entirely clear why the others liked him even as a teenager, as he behaves like an absolute spanner, but then never having been a teenage boy I don't know how these things work. In many ways, he's the Peter Pan of the story, leading his Lost Boys on another adventure. Even when the friends discover they're surrounded by robots, and they're repeatedly attacked by them, Gary's determination to finish the pub crawl is, in a bizarre way, almost commendable. Of course, the film's denouement allows some explanation for his behaviour, and Pegg pulls it off in the way he always manages to do.

However, the real revelation of the film is Nick Frost, playing Gary's best friend at school, Andy. There has been a lot of bad blood between Andy and Gary, and Andy is determined to remain teetotal on the pub crawl. Being attacked by robots is enough to send anyone over the edge, and there is something of a Hulk-like transformation when Andy goes back to the drink, and watching him batter his way through oncoming hordes is nothing sort of visual ballet. The makers came up with a new form of combat nicknamed 'pub fu', an amalgamation of kung fu and bar room brawl, and it feels very much like you're watching men who learned to fight watching wrestling and movies as children. It's brilliant!

As with the previous two films, there are plenty of appearances by the actors from both the earlier films and various other Channel 4 comedies, as well as two higher ranking stars in the form of Rosamund Pike, who plays Oliver's sister Sam, and Pierce Brosnan, who plays a former schoolteacher. It's nice to watch Pike giving as good as she gets, but I couldn't help wondering at the absence of Jessica Hynes. It feels a little slow to get into second gear, but the film becomes much funnier once they realise that all is not as it seems in Newton Haven. It's entertaining, and I think the 'moral' of the film can be summed up in the sense that nobody's perfect, but if you just try the best you can, you'll get there in the end. Maybe we could all learn from that.

4 out of 5

When Your Hero Isn't Actually Your Hero

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'And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him'.
Revelation 6:8, King James Bible.

I watched Pale Rider (1985) for the first time yesterday, and I have to say that I was impressed. It might be a slow burner in places, but I'd expect nothing else from Clint Eastwood. Yet despite its similarities to the earlier High Plains Drifter (1973), I think there's a lot to learn from the film's use of character, particularly regarding antagonists and protagonists.

The plot, in a nutshell, is fairly simple. Set sometime in 1880s California, a small mining camp has grown up alongside a stream believed to contain gold. Local mine owner Coy Lahood (Richard Dysart) sends his thugs to vandalise the camp in an effort to force the people to leave. The thugs shoot a small dog belonging to a teenaged girl, Megan (Sydney Penny), who prays for a miracle while burying her pet. Lo and behold, a man known only as Preacher (Clint Eastwood) turns up, and manages to galvanise the camp into staying put, and fighting for their claims. Lahood calls in a corrupt marshal, named Stockburn (John Russell), and the stage is set for the final showdown. Spoilers ahead, if you haven't seen it, though in all honesty, you'd probably be able to guess the ending anyway!

The notion of an outsider coming in to help a group of people against a violent threat sounds similar to High Plains Drifter, but Preacher is a more positive figure than that of the Drifter. In addition, while the townsfolk of High Plains Drifter were guilty of earlier crimes, the campfolk of Pale Rider have committed no crime, and are therefore innocent, making Preacher a protector. Yet he isn't actually the hero - he's a facillitator.

It's important to establish in any story who your protagonist and antagonist are. In Pale Rider, Coy Lahood is clearly the antagonist. He wants the camp gone, and he'll do anything to get his way. You might initially think the protagonist is Preacher, but you'd be wrong. The real protagonist is miner Hull Barrett (Michael Moriarty), who we see demonstrating both bravery and determination early on in the film.

• Once the initial raid is over, it is Hull who ventures into town, despite a beating on an earlier visit. He refuses to be cowed by Lahood and his men. 


• It is also Hull who repeatedly tries to break a massive boulder in a stream, a boulder he believes hides a gold vein. Hull's belief is proven true, and he finds gold, which he uses to pay the camp's debts in the nearby town. He tells Preacher that he won't blast the rock as it will destroy the course of the stream, which sets him in direct comparison with Lahood who blasts anything that gets in his way, regardless of what it does to the landscape. 


• Hull has also taken in Megan and her mother Sarah (Carrie Snodgress) after Sarah's husband abandoned her, yet he doesn't force her into marriage until she's ready for it. 

Hull is not presented as a hero, but his actions betray him as such. Characters in the film refer to him as "decent" and "good", and he shows he is both of these. He isn't the same man of action and obvious hero as Preacher, but his stirring speech to the camp when they consider selling up also helps to cement him as a 'go to' guy.

Stockburn and his rogue deputies

Preacher is set up as being the character who must face down the bad guy, and through a vague reference to a history with Stockburn, we realise that the shoot out will be between this pair. It's difficult to consider Stockburn as an antagonist as he has simply been hired by Lahood, in the same way that Preacher cannot be the antagonist since he shows up later in the film than Hull. Hull initially attempts to accompany Preacher into town, but after destroying Lahood's mining operation, Preacher scares Hull's horse away so that he will be left behind - Preacher wants to keep him safe. He heads into town and has his shoot out with Stockburn, but Lahood remains alive, and attempts to shoot Preacher. Hull appears, having walked into town, and shoots Lahood. The protagonist has defeated the antagonist with the help of a facilitator - Preacher both awakens and illuminates heroic qualities within Hull to enable him to become the hero of the story, so that Hull can remain the hero even after Preacher leaves.

So what's my point? Well what I'm saying is that your protagonist needn't necessarily be the guy who comes in, all guns blazing. He should be the guy who develops and grows throughout the narrative, even if he needs help to do so. Don't be afraid to give your hero a helping hand.

If you like your Westerns gritty or pulpy, my novella, The Guns of Retribution, is available for Kindle through Amazon US (99c), and Amazon UK (77p).

#FridayFlash - Water Witch

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This flash concludes my loose Water Witch trilogy, inspired by the canals of Den Bosch. The preceding two stories are Watery Depths and In the Cellar Prison.

* * *

A full moon hangs in the sky above the walled town, and I curse her presence as I glide through the canals. I feel her watching me, as though she knows what I am to do on this night. Yet a full moon will not stop me.

Shuttered windows look down into the canals from the tall houses that line the water. The town could be abandoned for all of the signs of life that it shows. I swim beneath bridges, festooned with baskets of flowers, and pass staircases cut into stone where ferrymen leave the canals and head up into the streets. One staircase passes beneath a pointed arch, and I frown. It could be the staircase where another of my kind was betrayed by her lover. She visited a terrible wrath on the town for their part against her, and I swim on with a renewed sense of purpose. Gondolas and other boats are tied up at makeshift jetties, though no one leaves their transport in the tunnels. The humans are afraid of the dark places.

I pass a tiny waterside shrine, so unobstrusive it would be easy to miss at first glance. Yet the tiny flare of a flame draws me near, and I climb out of the water onto the narrow step. Only small feet could navigate the distance from the steps to this ledge. A crude drawing, somehow sweet in its rough execution, depicts a mermaid in the canal, smiling and waving at happy children on the bank. An old jam jar sits beside the small candle, stuffed with papers. I do not need to extract one to know what they are. I smile, thinking of my sister who lived here before. Puella tried to live in the shadows, beloved by children to whom she granted wishes, but feared by adults who tried to imprison her. She died in captivity, but decimated the population with a merciless waterborne sickness. She spared the children, and I wonder if their own children still hope for her return.

Instead I have come to the town, the last of three sisters, and I am determined that the town shall fall. These humans are so arrogant to think they can enslave water, forcing it into channels and bending it to their will. Yet the waters will reclaim their town, swallowing it up as their hatred swallowed my sisters.

I reach the pool at the centre of the town where several canals converge, and I climb out of the water onto a narrow jetty at the base of a house. I do not know who lives here, and I find I do not care. I clear my throat, and begin the first of my two songs. It is both a lament for my sisters, who did no further wrong than being misunderstood, and a warning for those rare few who do not hate us. Those who loved Puella will hear my song, and they will be spared.

My song lasts half the night, and I smile when I hear doors slamming, and shouts of alarm in the houses around me. They may tell their neighbours to leave, but their neighbours will not hear my song, and will think them mad. They will watch the flight of those I spare, and wonder at their hurry, and it will be their downfall.

The sounds of flight fade away, and I am satisfied that those who should be saved are safely away. I imagine the grown children who loved Puella, and they are piled into carriages with their wives and children. They will find a new home and they will continue to respect the water. Perhaps they will settle at the coast, where they will meet my sea kin.

I hear confusion among those who have stayed, and my song changes. The lament gives way to a reminder to the canals. I tell the water about its mighty source, crashing down a mountain among ancient rocks, where it flows freely. No walls hem it in, and no men force it into quiet subservience. The water churns and splashes in reply, remembering its freedom, and railing against its stagnancy. It gathers more water from its source, and rises up the walls. I slip into the pool, urging the water to liberate itself, and it erupts in a fountain of fury. The canals flow faster than they can ever remember, sweeping away jetties and bridges. The water bursts into homes, and lashes at businesses as it seeks a way out of the town.

I rise up the wall of a house on a surge of water, and clamber onto the roof to watch the destruction I have wrought. Water thunders and crashes around the buildings, and the air is filled with screams. I cease my song, and plunge back into the water. I will swim beneath the waves, and seek out Puella's children. Perhaps I will keep them safe.