The Vanishing at the Cecil Hotel

Netflix is just churning out the true crime docuseries of late. I guess from their perspective it’s money in the bank — Night Stalker is pretty gruesome stuff but distinguishes itself by giving voice to the survivors and to the victims’ families. The Ripper really stood out to me however, as it’s so impressively rich in archival footage that acts as a portal into a specific time and place as if you’d woken up there. 

The Ripper uses a sharp socio-economic lens to examine the 1970s Yorkshire murders and the investigation as part of a long shadow of misogyny and violence against women in general, as well as the vulnerability that results from poverty and the stigma of being perceived as a woman of “loose morals”.  During the investigation the label of prostitute is wielded like a blunt and numbing tool meant to strip away a woman’s humanity and the preciousness of her life. It is unforgivable. From a modern 21st century perspective that’s steeped in technology, forensics and DNA, how an investigation of this magnitude was handled fifty years ago is also fascinating, and in some cases infuriating.

Crime Scene: The Vanishing at the Cecil Hotel is not about a vicious serial killer, but rather the disappearance of a young woman that took the internet by storm in 2013 with this viral video footage. What saves this docuseries from being exploitative trash is that it’s just as much about the long and sordid history of the Cecil Hotel as it is about Elisa Lam and the chilling mystery surrounding her sudden disappearance. Watching this I was reminded all over again why her story captured the attention of so many all over the world.

Very well presented is the historical detail of the infamous Cecil and the surrounding Skid Row — all that violence, despair, and neglect packed into such a small area. It’s fucking heartbreaking how many people can be thrown away like garbage and how quickly their suffering and distress become invisible.

The “web sleuths” featured prominently in the third episode had me gnashing my teeth. Their wholesale obsession absolutely run amok to turn Elisa Lam’s final tragic moments into unhinged conspiracy theories (and the way they tortured that Morbid guy) just enraged me. But that’s the internet for you. 

I would say that the series could have been drastically improved had this entire episode been left on the cutting room floor; then again, a defining aspect of this story is how Lam’s disappearance morphed into an online obsession for thousands of armchair detectives as they followed each other down the rabbit hole like lemmings off a cliff. What the series misses altogether though, is an opportunity to ask why people become consumed in this way, as if in the grip of a fever, seeing shadows and conspiracies everywhere. It’s a phenomenon certainly not unique to the Elisa Lam case.

***MILD SPOILERS AHEAD***

It’s long past time to let this poor girl rest in peace finally. The reconstruction here of her probable last moments absolutely gutted me. I remember when I first saw that elevator video in 2013 I was as disturbed and unsettled as everyone else. It seemed so strange, so spooky. But now it just makes me so terribly sad to know what we were most likely witnessing was a young woman in severe mental distress in the grip of a psychotic break. And no one noticed enough to care because everyone around her was so desensitized to “strange behaviour.” It was just another day at the Cecil Hotel. So there she was alone, scared, and disoriented — probably hallucinating and maybe even feeling hunted. 

Whatever compulsions or mental confusion that drove Elisa Lam to make her way to the rooftop of the Cecil Hotel and then climb into that water tank we’ll never know for sure. What we do know for certain now is hers is a piercingly sad story. As is the ongoing plight of the discarded people trapped on Skid Row, exceedingly vulnerable to the predators who live there too.

“Because you were home”: Revisiting The Strangers (2008)

One of the ways a horror movie can really leave its mark on me is if I can put myself (I mean really put myself) in the shoes of the characters. When I can feel it happening to me, I’m no longer detached and once removed from the action watching it voyeuristically from a safe distance. A lot of horror is like that. It’s even why we watch, to explore dangerous terrain from a safe distance. But once you relinquish that feeling of voyeur and become part of the story — imagining how you would feel, what you would do, things shift, as does the experience.

That’s what happened to me the first time I saw The Strangers in theatres. For a home invasion movie to work you really have to create a lot of pathos in your characters. I immediately felt that in our protagonists. A young couple who have just experienced a pain point in their relationship. Exhausted from a wedding reception, at four in the morning, they retreat to the secluded house where they had planned to spend the night. But rather than having an intimate moment of champagne, ice cream and rose petals in the bath water, there are tears and anguish and confusion about what happens next. 

But what happens next is more terrible than either could have ever imagined as they become terrorized by three random strangers in masks (and speaking of those masks, I do wonder if the porcelain doll ones used by the women didn’t inspire the masks that would become iconic in the Purge franchise a few years later). 

I’ve been in this situation staying somewhere so secluded that were the wrong people to happen along with less than noble intentions you’d be fucked. I think Liv Tyler and Scott Speedman are great here at projecting that sense of vulnerability and helplessness, of expressing that sheer disbelief that this can even be happening. Clinging desperately to denial for as long as possible, that there is a way out of this, through this. 

The Strangers hinges on us feeling a deep well of empathy and fear for our leads. If Tyler and Speedman hadn’t delivered with performances filled with the necessary pathos, the movie would have collapsed in on itself as an emotionless exercise in nihilistic violence — “Because you were home.” But I lived every second of Tyler’s terror and felt it as my own, from the time she scrambles to get back into her regular clothes, to when she discovers she can’t fit under the bed when she’s trying to hide like a panicked child would do.

I also love the color palette used here — the gold patina, the deep mahogany browns and the solid blacks and reds. I also think it’s one of the best uses of a soundtrack in a recent horror movie. The high volume repeat play of Merle Haggard’s Mama Tried is so incongruous in this unfolding living nightmare that I will forever associate it with this movie in the same way Stuck in the Middle With You makes me think of Reservoir Dogs.

This movie isn’t perfect of course. There are some pacing problems in the middle, and a few times where there are noticeable logic gaps, but that’s offset by the movie’s ability to drive home a very visceral, lizard brain fear all humans share — to be alone and defenseless against sociopaths who cannot, will not be reasoned with.

Creep / Creep 2

**Mild spoilers ahead if you have not seen both Creep and Creep 2**

You can’t do a review of found footage films and not talk about Mark Duplass’s zany collaboration with director Patrick Brice that has resulted in the Creep franchise (Where’s part 3, Duplass? Where. Is. It.)

The phrase low-budget gets bandied around a lot when talking about indie found footage movies because for the most part, the appeal of making one is you can do it on the cheap and still get some great results if you know what you’re doing. The collaboration between Duplass and Brice has proven these two definitely knew what they were doing when they came up with the socially awkward, unnerving as shit friendly neighborhood sociopath Josef (and his pal Peachfuzz).

The original 2014 Creep on the surface may just seem like a parade of simple jump scares, but it’s so much more than that. Those jump scares are paired with a macabre dark sense of humor mixed with an unsettling dread. It’s that delayed reaction humans experience when a situation suddenly begins to feel a little off-kilter, and veers into extremely uncomfortable terrain before we can even begin to process how we got there. In Josef, Duplass embraces a quirky, charming persona with some odd behaviors that don’t all fit safely under the umbrella of “eccentric.” It’s the not knowing where the real threat is coming from that gives this movie its bite (And Jesus Christ, that wolf mask though). Brice and Duplass have great on-screen chemistry and Brice himself delivers a nice guy, vulnerable performance even as he’s busy directing things behind the camera.

While different in a lot of ways from its predecessor, as a sequel Creep 2 delivers big time. There’s less mystery and nervous uncertainty this time around, but just because we know where the threat is coming from it doesn’t diminish the underlying tension and sense of unease we feel in the company of Mark Duplass’s Josef. Who, by the way, turns in another great performance even when he’s being obnoxiously self-parodying, and exaggerating the weirder more socially awkward qualities of an unstable sociopath. 

Desiree Akhavan as the lovely Sara is a worthy foil to Duplass and the two engage in a dance of wits, each seeking something very important from the other, each using and being used. This sequel might not feel as off-balance or menacing as the original, but Duplass pulls us in with his unique brand of desperate charm and unchecked crazy. Akhavan is not a helpless maiden either, nor the stereotypical Final Girl; she has agency here and we fear for her as only an audience can when we know what our heroine does not. The true horror comes in the last twelve minutes. Brace yourself.

I’ve now watched these movies three times, and have come to the conclusion Creep 2 surpasses the original. This is helped in large part by Akhavan’s charismatic and layered performance; she’s so magnetic and sincere on screen, you stay with her frame by frame every step of the way as she upends every Final Girl trope. Duplass plays off her energy as the two dance around each other almost ad libbing as they go. It makes the narrative feel loose and liberating and ultimately dangerous, like a coiled snake in the summer grass ready to spring.

There’s the blackest of black humor threading through this story of the serial killer confronting a mid-life crisis and all that existential angst. Of the “artist” bored and disillusioned with his medium until he meets his Muse. There is a hunger in all of us to find meaning, to feel passion, and here it is on such naked display in a monster we do not wish to share these human commonalities. It’s incongruous and upsetting even as it makes us laugh with deep unease tilting the solid earth beneath our feet towards very uncomfortable terrain indeed.

I for one cannot wait to see what Duplass and Brice have planned for Creep 3. And if you haven’t checked out Duplass’s anthology series Room 104, do it! It’s awesome.

REC: the found footage classic from Spain

The one strike against REC is that you can only watch it for the first time, the first time. I will never forget my first time. Released the same year as Paranormal Activity, this 2007 found footage entry from Spain is as raw and visceral as they come. Whereas PA is quiet and subtle suburban horror, REC is a full frontal assault of screams and gore and abject terror amidst chaos and confusion. 

Every found footage entry since The Blair Witch Project has to decide whether to address the “why” or “how” events are being filmed. It’s a conundrum that filmmakers ignore at their peril. In REC’s case, the framing device of a news crew is wholly convincing and adds a tangible layer of realism so that the whole experience feels authentic and that what we’re watching really is actual found footage from a horrific occurrence. 

As our entry point into the story you really could not have asked for a better more relatable heroine than Angela (Manuela Velasco) — she’s sweet, sincere, courageous and vulnerable. It’s easy to root for her, and become absolutely terrified for her. 

This movie has inspired so many knockoffs, a solid American remake (Quarantine), and influenced the subgenre in so many other ways that it’s hard not to refer to it as iconic and a classic even though it’s only 13 years old and itself borrows heavily from the zombie subgenre, most notably Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later. 

Still, REC stands apart as an original — a shocking, memorable blend of infection horror, found footage and zombie-esque panic and violence that deserves its fans and every good thing that’s ever said about it.

In defense of Paranormal Activity

As my month of found footage viewing continues, a few movies are getting a post of their own as I seem to have a little bit more to say about them. In this instance, 2007’s Paranormal Activity.

And before we go any further, let’s just get this out of the way first — Micah is a bully and an asshole, and one of the most deserving examples of “he had it coming to him” in cinematic history. I seriously want to repeatedly punch that guy in the junk every time he’s on screen. Does this detract from my overall enjoyment of the movie? Not at all. In fact, it probably adds something visceral to the viewing experience when karma for his never-ending macho bullshit finally finds him. It’s hella cathartic.

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I love the simplicity of this movie as it ratchets up the tension by millimeters until its sudden and shocking climax that acts like a punch to the solar plexus. It is the textbook example of letting your imagination do all the work helped along by some really subtle but extremely effective sound design.

In 1999, The Blair Witch Project proved what could be done with a few shaky cameras and unknown “non-actors”, consequently re-defining guerrilla filmmaking on a shoe-string budget where what you never see is the most terrifying thing you can imagine. BWP also tapped into a viral marketing campaign so genius that Alfred Hitchcock himself would have applauded it. But following its phenomenal success that no one could have predicted at the time, BWP also triggered a deluge of found footage fare and dreadful knockoffs. The fatigue and backlash became real threats to the subgenre’s continued survival. Despite this state of affairs, Paranormal Activity would arrive upon the scene eight years later able to terrify and delight us (as well as Spain’s REC but we’ll get to that in another post). It cannot be stressed enough how fresh and exciting PA played in theatres among horror fans who thought the FF craze was used up and finished.

Whereas BWP took us out into the deep dark woods and got us lost there — a primordial place we are already preconditioned to fear — Paranormal Activity brought us back home and attacked us in a place we are at our most vulnerable — our bedroom while we sleep. Suburban horror has a rich tradition on display in such classics as Poltergeist and Halloween. The DNA of those films definitely informs everything we see happen in Paranormal Activity but with this new approach of relying only on home video camera footage and absolutely no special effects. 

The result is a stripped bare account that triggers in our brain a sensation that what we are watching is “real” — these are ordinary people that look like me, talk like me, what we are seeing on screen looks like my home movies, and suddenly the buffer zone of safety offered by an obviously make-believe technicolor film disappears.

Unfortunately for the subgenre as a whole, it’s a device that the more it’s used (and overused), it begins to lose its power rather quickly. Our brain isn’t as easily tricked now. Or impressed. But I remain a fan of found footage and continue to find examples that pull me in like the first time. 2020’s Host was another pleasant surprise and reminder that there is life left in this subgenre yet.

My Month of Found Footage

Full disclosure: I’ve got a real weakness for found footage movies (that’s a fact, not an apology… well, maybe it’s a bit of both). I love their simple conceit, the often low budget, the sometimes awkward even terrible acting. Yes, I’m even a fan of the shaky camera, abrupt editing and splicing together of scenes and sounds meant to create (or mimic) an authentic docu-style “realism.” Combine found footage with the horror anthology device? I am fucking there for that shit every time. As COVID wears on, and wears us down, I’ve decided to use the month of September to re-visit some of my favorites to see whether they hold up or not.

All the movies will be rolled up into this thread on Twitter, as well as here in this post which I’m going to keep pinned while I do this. Any movie that inspires me to write more than a few sentences will get its own post that I’ll link to from here.

Read the full post »

…and I’ll be gone in the dark

I’ll Be Gone In The Dark ★★★★
Michelle McNamara
2018I'll Be Gone In the Dark

“The truth was, I was jittery from sugar, hunger, and spending too much time alone in the dark absorbing a fifty-chapter horror story narrated in the kind of dead voice used by desk clerks at the DMV.”
~Michelle McNamara, I’ll Be Gone in the Dark

I probably would have been drawn to this book eventually no matter what. Well-written true crime that unfolds like the best of a police procedural with all the markers of a gripping horror suspense novel all rolled into one are a siren song for me. But due to the tragic circumstances surrounding the author — on April 21, 2016 Michelle McNamara died very suddenly in her sleep — the book had been on my radar for quite some time, a book Michelle dedicated the last years of her life obsessively researching that she would not live to finish.

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Michelle McNamara and husband Patton Oswalt

Though there is a sense of incompleteness at the end, an abrupt cutoff in the road indicating Michelle still had so much more to write, so many more dark avenues to explore, what we are presented with is nevertheless compelling, frightening, heartbreaking stuff. The book is just as strong covering the killer’s compulsions as it is covering Michelle’s own.

The human propensity to be drawn to and into these stories can often seem
unhealthy and aberrant. But for those of us who sometimes find ourselves
disappearing down the rabbit hole into a labyrinthine cold case with so many unanswered questions, I don’t think it’s the darkness we’re chasing, but the light. It’s a quest for illumination — the solving of the puzzle (its own deep satisfaction) is a hopeful act of throwing on the lights, a brightness from which the boogeyman can no longer move amongst us in faceless, nameless anonymity. One of my favorite authors, Megan Abbott, wrote an insightful piece for the L.A. Times on why we — and women in particular — are drawn to true crime.

Before picking up this book I had never heard of the East Area Rapist – Original Night Stalker (EAR/ONS) (renamed the Golden State Killer by Michelle), yet he is one of the most prolific serial offenders in US history (50 known sexual assaults and at least 10 murders). The Golden State Killer terrorized the state of California from 1976 to 1986, but for all that time lead investigators spanning multiple counties and jurisdictions, wouldn’t even know they were hunting the same monster. That shocking revelation would come years later through cold case DNA testing and a new generation of dedicated detectives and forensic scientists.

Having the killer’s DNA profile however, did not miraculously lead to his arrest. The hunt was also complicated by the fact the trail had been cold with no new victims or crime scenes since May 1986. So is the Golden State Killer dead? Serving a long prison sentence? Did he get married like Green River Killer Gary Ridgeway, a living arrangement that made it too difficult to continue his double life as a serial murderer?

In her quest to finally unmask the Golden State Killer’s true identity once and for all, McNamara shows the heart-wrenching toll on all parties who share in this consuming need to know — the victims families of course — but also the retired detectives who carried the burden for decades and those who were forced to take that burden to the grave with them. Another aspect I loved is how McNamara talks about the “confirmation bias” that sneaks up on real and armchair detectives alike. Anyone involved with the hunt will eventually uncover a suspect they become certain is “The One” — the circumstantial evidence piles up and so much of the suspect’s background and personal life fits the FBI profile. He lived in the right area at the right time, is the right height and weight and age. Was a peeping tom as a teenager, or broke into houses to steal. It’s GOTTA BE this guy, he’s “The One.” When DNA testing finally eliminates the suspect it can be a devastating blow, and it may take a while for the mind to let go of what it was so certain to be true.

I’m reminded of Robert Graysmith’s obsessive quest to hunt down the identity of the Zodiac Killer — Graysmith’s “The One” was Arthur Leigh Allen, and for very good reasons. Yet in 2002 DNA testing of saliva from the stamps the Zodiac used to send his letters to the San Francisco Chronicle were not a match for Allen. This did not deter Graysmith however, who still believes Allen is the Zodiac (someone else could have licked the stamps or the original DNA sample might have been too small or degraded). It’s a dangerous kind of tunnel vision that’s resulted in a disturbing amount of innocent people going to jail (or death row) for crimes they didn’t commit. Thanks to the rise of DNA testing and organizations like The Innocence Project, many wrongly convicted persons have been freed, though too many still remain incarcerated to this day, or have been killed by the state. It’s a chilling reminder that despite what we’ve been told, just because something walks and talks like a duck, still doesn’t mean it’s a duck.

The nature of the the Golden State Killer’s m.o. — that he was so brazen to break into homes as people slept — will leave you unnerved and paranoid. After spending a night reading, I couldn’t help take a really hard look at my patio sliding doors and wonder how easy it would be for someone to get through them. But we could all stand to be a little more careful and alert these days anyway, right? Because you just never know who’s prowling in the shadows of your backyard, or peering into a back window, waiting for you to turn off the lights and get into bed.

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Michelle died tragically before seeing Joseph DeAngelo’s arrest.

The remarkable addendum to all of this of course, is that finally after four decades the Golden State Killer was unmasked at last when 72 year old Joseph James DeAngelo was arrested April 24th, 2018. The arrest was the result of incredible DNA forensic work headed up by cold case investigator Paul Holes.

Michelle did not live to see the unmasking of the monster she chased for years, but I have to believe that somehow she knows and it’s given her peace. Michelle’s story as it is intertwined with her obsessive quest to find the Golden State Killer premieres on HBO June 28th, in the new docuseries I’ll Be Gone In The Dark.

hbo gone in the dark