The Poppies of Terra #34 - Filmmaking Generations

A little past the midpoint of the year, it’s interesting to look back and note that at least five genre films have been made by the sons or daughters of figures who are well-known in the entertainment industry. The next generation is, and in some cases has been for a bit, upon us. Or, to reappropriate Psalm 145:4-6 : “One generation shall commend your works to another, and shall declare your mighty acts.”

I’m going to start by mentioning the movie Humane, released in April, which is the first feature film directed by Caitlin Cronenberg, daughter of the irrepressible, irreproducible, and to some, unpalatable, David Cronenberg. David’s son Brandon, for those keeping track, is also a director, and one of growing note–Infinity Pool was one of 2023’s most memorably discomfiting cinematic experiences, one from which I’ve thankfully not yet fully recovered. I haven’t seen Humane yet, but it boasts an intriguing premise and promising cast.

More recently, in early June, Ishana Night Shyamalan, daughter of M. Night Shyamalan, released her first feature film, The Watchers (which bears no connection with the Dean Koontz novel, one of the author’s most popular). This is instead an adaptation of the more recent eponymous novel by A. M. Shine. Not having read the book, it’s difficult to say if part of the issue with The Watchers is that the movie attempts to undergird and justify its captivating setup–strangers trapped deep in the woods must follow certain rules, as they are being closely observed by otherworldly entities–with too much mythological explication. Ishana Shyamalan’s film is suitably moody and evocative, with wonderful photography, production design and music. But the talented cast, I felt, including Dakota Fanning in the lead, is at times left to flounder, delivering performances that can come across as too constricted by the screenplay (lines like “Some things are meant to be left in the past” were cliched a long time ago). These characters seem to exist solely to service the movie’s plot and its central theme of mirrored psyches. The film isn’t long, and yet tends to sag as it snakes towards its somewhat foreseeable twist ending. Jordan Peele’s Us (2019) can retroactively almost be seen as a kind of subversive sequel–what if the menace got out? I think Ishana Shyamalan’s craft shows potential, and it’s worth keeping an eye out for whatever she works on next. 

The Watchers, by the way, also features Georgina Campbell, who will be known to many from Barbarian (2022), and who herself was the protagonist of Lovely, Dark, and Deep (2023). In some ways that film resembles The Watchers–the normal laws of space and time seem suspended far into the woods, our main character is being observed, and the past haunts the present… Unfortunately, though rich in atmosphere, that movie was similarly let down by its third act. Perhaps both could be melded together and reassembled into a more effective Watchers of the Dark. 

Speaking of title riffs, June also saw the release of The Exorcism, a film about the making of an Exorcist reboot in which Russell Crowe plays an alcoholic actor named Anthony Miller who is cast as a principal in the movie-within-a-movie. As the production gets underway–in fact, before the character of Anthony Miller even enters the fray–mysterious occurrences plague the set. If this scenario wasn’t recursive enough for you, consider The Exorcism’s director: Joshua John Miller, son of famous actor and playwright Jason Miller, known to most folks as Father Damien Karras in the original The Exorcist (1973). Muddling the promotion of The Exorcism is the fact that Russell Crowe starred in The Pope’s Exorcist only last year–and is slated to appear in a sequel. If we consider The Exorcism as the meta interior of a Crowe exorcism sandwich, we might be forced to conclude that in this particular case the bread may be the tastiest part. The Exorcism does begin with considerable promise: fun set design of the fictional movie, a quietly riveting and subtle performance by Crowe, some genuinely emotional moments revolving around the fraughtness of the relationship of his character with that of his long-estranged daughter, his difficulties performing on set, and so on. Alas, though Crowe’s increasingly unhinged turn becomes pulpy fun, the film soon loses faith in its own possibilities and lapses into shopworn, or perhaps in this case pew-worn, exorcism tropes. The dependable David Hyde Pierce is either miscast or misdirected in the finale.

Perhaps the most highly anticipated horror film of the year, or at least thus far, is Longlegs, directed by Oz Perkins, son of Anthony Perkins. (As a curious aside: the recent MaXXXine, Ti West’s third installment in the series kicked off by X [2022], plays out in part on a set of another film-within-a-film, one sequence in particular unfolding at the Bates Motel house where Psycho [1960] was shot. So Perkins’ legacy is currently doubly alive in theaters). I enjoyed a great deal in Longlegs, probably all the way up to its knees: taut, carefully controlled direction, excellent cinematography, sound design, and editing, all working in concert to artfully evoke a sense of foreboding and lingering evil. The screenplay is also subtle when it needs to be, and delivers its revelations at precisely the right times. Unfortunately, I felt that the procedural aspect of the movie pulled against its attempted supernatural incantation instead of amplifying it. I found it hard to buy some of the choices made by the two main FBI characters, and consequently felt gently pushed out of the narrative instead of drawn in, so that by the time all was made plain, I started questioning the overall plausibility of events. Still, there’s much to admire in Longlegs, and I think horror fans will, on the whole, greatly appreciate Perkins’ twisted vision and disturbing tone. 

Speaking of which, I’ve left my favorite of the bunch for last, though it was first to be released this year, back in February. Lisa Frankenstein, directed by Zelda Williams, daughter of the prodigiously gifted and inimitable Robin Williams, is her first feature. Quirky, preposterous, satirical, deadpan, deeply irreverent, super stylish, whimsical (Lisa Frank anyone?), romantic, mock nostalgic and subversive, it’s certainly not for everyone, but has all the makings of a cult classic. I had a blast with it, in a similar way to last year’s under-appreciated Bottoms. The premise recalls Bob Balaban’s low-budget and self-explanatory My Boyfriend’s Back (1993), but Zelda Williams breathes intoxicating new aesthetic life into the material, like resuscitating a corpse with a harp. Horror and comedy are hard to mesh effectively, but Lisa Frakenstein colors in both with panache–and throws in plenty of neons for good measure. “They say time heals all wounds. But that’s a lie, time is the wound.” Lisa, I’m with you.

Recently too I watched Kinds of Kindness, the latest delectably deranged outing by Yorgos Lanthimos. Despite losing about half of the audience members in my showing along the way, it packed a beautifully perverted punch. Lanthimos has described his films as “problematic children,” but I wonder, does he have any actual children? If so, and if any of them decide to pursue filmmaking, I don’t think even the greatest exorcism on Earth could help us.