THE IMDB TOP 50 CHALLENGE #48 The Shining

I don’t find films scary. They sometimes make me jump, they occasionally make me squirm but they never genuinely frighten me. Except The Shining. It’s creepy, chilling and nasty in the most insidious, horrible way imaginable. And Jack Nicholson’s Jack Torrance is arguably screen’s greatest monster – malevolent, violent and, crucially, believable.

Steven King’s source material is a relatively straightforward haunted house tale. Set in The Overlook Hotel, it details the mental breakdown of the winter caretaker, Jack, under the building’s malign influence. He’s a writer who’s taken the job in the hope that it will allow him time to finish his first novel. Once he and his wife Wendy and young son Danny are alone, however, the spirits which caused the previous janitor to slaughter his family with an axe begin to affect Torrance.

Stanley Kubrick interpreted King’s novel very differently. Whilst King’s novel focused on Danny, the director saw The Shining as being very much Jack’s story. For Kubrick, the supernatural elements of the story were peripheral: the psychological breakdown of Jack was key.

Much has been made of King’s disgust at Kubrick’s interpretation. He voiced his displeasure regularly and went as far as to script and produce his own (vastly inferior) mini-series. What is less well publicised, however, is his later admittance that Kubrick’s version could not be improved: ‘Could it have been done better? Over the years I’ve come to believe that it probably could not.’

Having made the decision to focus so much attention on Jack, it was vital that Kubrick employed the right man for the job. Hiring Jack Nicholson was a no-brainer. Having been embroiled in the Roman Polanski rape scandal, fresh from discovering his sister was actually his mother, and with rumours of extensive cocaine consumption, Nicholson was perfectly poised to play a man on the peripheries of a breakdown.

Occasionally his mania borders on lunacy – with Nicholson evidently relishing the opportunity to express Torrance’s madness. Grinning maniacally, at times his performance verges on the animalistic as he charges around the Overlook’s corridors like a gorilla, swinging his arms, grunting and wheezing.

Less successful was the casting of Shelley Duvall as Wendy. An inexperienced actress used to working on Robert Altman’s improvisatory movies, she struggled with the emotional and physical intensity of a Kubrick shoot: her jittery, nervy performance reflects her exhaustion and anxieties. She later confessed that she felt the director disliked her and had driven her unmercifully – and after filming one take 127 times, she was probably right.

Still, given the intensity of Nicholson’s performance, it’s little wonder that Duvall appears on edge. Jack’s obvious hostility towards his wife and child is ever apparent – even the one scene of intimacy between father and son is edged with malice as he asks, “Wouldn’t you like to stay here... forever?” The tension between the three is explained through a long scene in which Wendy tells a paediatrician that Jack had accidentally dislocated Danny’s shoulder whilst drunk some months ago. Thanks largely to Duvall’s jittery performance it’s unclear whether her account is entirely true – an ambiguity which serves the narrative well.

This scene also explains Danny’s retreat into himself and his relationship with Tony – an imaginary friend who lives ‘in his mouth’ and ‘tells him things’. Although his parents believe this to be little more than a childish fad, the audience are privy to far more information: Danny has the ability to ‘shine’. The youngster has precognitive powers and is able to communicate telepathically – leaving him sensitive to the ghostly history of the Overlook.

Much of The Shining is told from Danny’s perspective – literally. The recent invention of the Steadicam enthused Kubrick greatly and he used the new technology to its full advantage. Scenes of Danny careering around the Overlook on his tricycle remain the most famous and iconic use of Steadicam committed to celluloid.

Kubrick improvised heavily in order to produce the results required, adapting a wheelchair by adding platforms for the crew and a speedometer to ensure the results could be accurately replicated time and again. With the camera slung low to the ground and runners on either side steadying the contraption, Kubrick was able to follow Danny everywhere.

The tiny child is swamped by the wide hallways of the hotel, pedalling feverishly yet managing to put no distance between himself and the viewer – thanks to the constant proximity of the Steadicam. It’s a brilliantly effective way of illustrating the size of the Overlook and hinting at the horrors that lurk behind the locked doors he scoots past. Even the sound here is menacing – an alternate rolling clatter and carpet-muffled silence. Despite the scale of the corridors, it’s an intensely claustrophobic sequence.

Horror is everywhere in the hotel, most famously as blood pours out of an elevator and sloshes down the hallway. But it’s not just set-pieces which reveal the sinister nature of the Overlook. Kubrick utilises strange perspectives and repeated motifs throughout, often echoing Jack’s state of mind and actions. Nothing in the frame is insignificant – Kubrick had Elstree Studios bulldoze whole street scenes to build his intricate set.

Kubrick is a director totally unafraid to allow atmosphere to take precedence over action, and The Shining is a startling example of this. Relatively little actually happens until the film’s final act, with Kubrick gradually ratcheting up the tension and posing unanswered question after unanswered question. But when Jack finally tires of being a ‘dull boy’, the action accelerates towards a series of famous axe-blows, a chilling crescendo and, finally, a mysterious lingering shot of an old photograph.

In the end, it’s impossible to know for certain what happened or why. Each of the three protagonists are unreliable thanks to their fragile psyches, repressed rage, guilt and fear. Instead, Kubrick creates a multi-layered, wilfully ambiguous chiller which stringently adheres to the mantra of his great hero HP Lovecraft: “In all things mysterious... never explain!”

For real Shining geeks, http://www.theoverlookhotel.com/ is a treasure trove of related imagery, facts, trivia and art inspired by the film.

Much of the research for this article came from John Baxter’s wonderful biography Stanley Kubrick.

High Lane

The horror genre remains as popular as ever, but new concepts remain elusive. Truly original ideas seem to remain the preserve of Asian filmmakers – with western directors only too pleased to pounce upon and remake the best of what Japan and Korea have to offer. So the prospect of a French production filmed in picturesque Croatia offers a tantalising glimpse of something we haven’t yet seen.

High Lane tells the tale of five friends on a climbing trip with a difference. In the beautiful mountains of Croatia, they attempt to follow a trail which has already been hammered into the rocks – metal steps and rungs protrude from the sheer cliff faces and bridges are strung across the gullies and valleys. Danger is mitigated by the safety lines which follow the trail and from which the climbers can attach their harnesses.

Happy couple Fred and Karine are the experienced climbers leading their friends through the terrain. Loic and Chloé are less assured on the rock face – and face a challenge to their happiness from Chloé’s former love, Guillame, the fifth member of the party. With the trail closed for repairs, the quintet plough on regardless – with tensions rising between them, the path becoming increasingly dangerous and the threat of a mysterious figure stalking them through the mountains…

From the very outset, it’s apparent that High Lane offers little that hasn’t been seen before. With only five characters listed in the opening credits, it’s easy to start guessing which of the small cast might be bumped off first – and whether the villain might be an unlisted cameo, a la Kevin Spacey in Se7en. This feeling is only confirmed when the five characters are revealed – a typically predictable combination of brooding machismo, endearing geekiness and utterly unsuitable clothing.

It does the filmmakers no credit whatsoever to suggest that the film is set in Croatia, either. It clearly isn’t filmed anywhere near Croatia, and given that the location makes no difference to the storyline, it was a strange decision to make such a big deal of it. As it is, the spectacular scenery is the film’s true star and didn’t need any embellishment – the gorgeous vistas and truly scary rock faces speak loudly enough for themselves.

The scenery certainly steals the show in the first half hour of the movie. Some jaw-dropping camera shots show the sheer rock faces at their scariest, the lush greens of the forest canopy are utterly beautiful, and a sense of how dangerous nature can be pervades the action. Yet director Abel Ferry seems determined to dispense with the setting and concentrate on character – a decision which was, at best, misguided.

Rarely have a collection of characters been more generic. Adrenaline junkie Fred (Nicolas Giraud) and his doting girlfriend Karine (Maud Wyler) provide the sense of adventure, busty Chloé (Fanny Valette) proves that wearing a low-cut vest and wonderbra need be no impediment to physical activity, whilst her meek boyfriend Loic (Johan Libéreau) cowers in the shadow of Chloé’s ex – the swarthy and charismatic Guillame (Raphaël Lenglet). They’re exactly the kind of lazy caricatures which you would expect to feature in an uninspiring horror flick. And so it proves.

Initially, there is some tension in the exploits of the fivesome, as they traverse the mountain and deal with the associated dangers. One scene in particular, as they cross a rickety bridge, brings a genuine sense of peril – not least because, by that point, it feels like about time one of the characters copped it. But from that moment, Ferry appears to have given up on trying to create genuine scares: instead he switches his attention to the kind of villainy seen in dozens of generic horror flicks of this nature. From the moment that the seemingly motiveless woodsman/killer appears on the scene, High Lane takes a terminal turn for the worse. If it was predictable before, it becomes even more so.

There’s nothing remarkable or interesting about the mad man terrorising the teens: he’s so underdeveloped that the best name they could think to call him was ‘Anton’. And there’s nothing remarkable or interesting about the predictable fight for survival which ensues – existing relationships between the characters are mirrored in their actions, fight scenes run according to expectations, and Anton’s ‘lair’ is a lazy constructed cliché.

Add to this some seemingly incongruous flashback sequences and an excruciating pair of scenes in which the cast sing Supergrass’ ‘Alright’ (maybe it’s less excruciating in non-English speaking countries), and you’ve got a film which seems confused as to what it wants to be or who it intends to appeal to.

High Lane is a film which took a wrong turn. If Ferry had focused on the dangers of nature, making the most of the threatening mountainous terrain and added a soupcon of psychological drama to proceedings, he might have walked away with a half-decent horror film in the can. As it is, the director seems to lose his nerve halfway through, resulting in a clichéd and predictable slasher-by-numbers which will entertain some, but will excite nobody.

Four Flies On Grey Velvet

To commemorate the fortieth anniversary of its original release, Dario Argento’s Four Flies On Grey Velvet has been restored, remastered and rereleased on DVD. This release comes from the original negative and includes a semi-mythical selection of four hitherto unseen scenes. The original English audio (and Ennio Morricone soundtrack) has also been remastered for the release. But aside from the bells and whistles, just how good is the film?

Roberto Tobias is the drummer in a 1970s prog rock band. He’s cool, successful and has an attractive blonde wife, Nina. The only dark cloud on his horizon is the constant presence of a stranger clad in black.

Tired of being followed, Roberto decides to turn the tables on his stalker – pursuing him into an abandoned theatre. Here, a scuffle leads to a knife being pulled and inevitable tragedy: Roberto escapes unharmed, but the stranger is stabbed in the stomach and falls into the orchestra pit. A sudden flash blinds Roberto and when his eyes adjust, he finds himself staring at a camera-wielding figure in a childlike rubber mask. As he stares in bewilderment, numerous incriminating photographs are taken.

The next day Roberto receives the dead man’s ID card in the post and automatically assumes it’s been sent by the masked figure. Puzzled by the lack of a blackmail demand, Roberto becomes increasingly paranoid about his situation – and his state of mind becomes yet more confused when his housekeeper is found murdered in a local park. Who is the cameraman? And what do they want with Roberto?

It seems that Four Flies On Grey Velvet’s reputation has been earned largely in absentia. Having been unavailable to home audiences for twenty years, this repackaged release has not aged well. Whilst absence might have made the heart grow fonder, it certainly hasn’t made the movie any better. The visuals might be slicker than ever, but they are, at times, extremely dark and difficult to make out. The dubbing is utterly appalling – the majority of the actors seem to be mouthing English words but it’s apparent that many of the voices attributed to them are not their own. It’s an unusual way of working and an unsuccessful one – why use a multi-lingual cast and have their dialogue dubbed by English speakers regardless?

The actors are not given much to work with anyway. Characterisation is poor throughout – the cast are asked to fulfil embarrassingly shallow clichés (a gay private detective is particularly lazily written), which they do with the minimum effort. Attempts at humour are even more misguided – a ‘comic’ postman appears periodically for seemingly no good reason whatsoever.

There are, however, plenty of reasons to praise Argento’s visual and technical flair. Four Flies On Grey Velvet is crammed with arresting images, creative camera work and slick set pieces. It seems that the director provided early inspiration for The Matrix’s ‘bullet-time’ sequence with swooping, sweeping shots which feature throughout the film. Scenes of deaths and murders are inventive, too – although one stair-based disaster owes more than a debt to Alfred Hitchcock.

Where the film really falls down is in its narrative – it’s extremely slow and very predictable. A twist early on hints that things might not be quite as they seem – but they are. Guessing the identity of the supposedly mysterious cameraman is absurdly easy – and even Argento seems to be aware that he needs to do more to inject interest into proceedings.

As such, a pretty unbelievable affair and a naked bath time romp are employed to kill a few minutes of screen time before a completely ridiculous resolution to the whodunit is offered by a new medical technique which can record the last image imprinted on a murder victim’s retinas. Although the film doesn’t take itself too seriously, this development is so silly as to be jarring – it doesn’t belong here and the plot could easily be wrapped up without resorting to such a daft device.

The nature of Four Flies On Grey Velvet ensures that such matters do not linger long in the memory. The storyline is easily the most forgettable part of Argento’s creation. Instead, what remains in the memory are images and scenes which show a real horror talent at work: a beating heart, a recurring nightmare and, best of all, a car crash in extreme slow motion. It’s a stunning set-piece – mere seconds stretched out to around a minute with every crunch, pop, scratch and screeched amplified and made hyper real and even more horrific.

Four Flies On Grey Velvet shows enough of Dario Argento’s talent to be of interest, but as a stand-alone film, it’s ultimately unsatisfactory. The occasional flashes of brilliance are not enough to compensate for the movie’s many deficiencies and, as such, it’s a release which will excite nobody other than the most ardent horror fans or Argento completists.

The Woman In Black

Since its publication in 1982, Susan Hill’s novel The Woman In Black has been adapted extremely successfully for radio, television and, most notably, for the stage. Here, director James Watkins brings this most British of ghost stories to the silver screen in conjunction with that most British of film studios – the newly revitalised Hammer.
The Woman In Black tells the tale of young widower Arthur Kipps (Daniel Radcliffe).

He’s a lawyer spending time away from his young son for the first time – sent to tidy up the affairs of the recently deceased Mrs Drablow. Her home, a huge Edwardian pile located on in the middle of swampy marshland stands detached and isolated by a tidal causeway. The nearest townsfolk are less than hospitable – leaving Arthur with little support when strange things begin to happen on Eel Marsh Island.

There is nothing new here. Fans of classic horror will recognise all the standards of the genre: creaky rocking chairs and creepy children, spooky toys and terrible taxidermy, noises in the night and movements in the shadows, grieving parents and possessed mothers. Central to it all is Radcliffe’s Arthur: a subdued and controlled performance which hints at a maturity beyond the actor’s tender years. Sadly his age remains a problem: he’s simply not old enough to be entirely convincing as a bereaved father.

That’s not to say that The Woman In Black is a poor film. Far from it. It wears its influences well and upholds the proud tradition of haunted Hammer houses. The supporting cast is suitably grizzled, the atmosphere is genuinely creepy and the direction entirely convincing: Watkins has great pedigree in the genre. Whilst it’s not at all original, it’s good to see something so resolutely old-fashioned in an era where 3D torture-porn has become decidedly stale.