Witness (USA, 1985)
Directed by Peter Weir
Starring Harrison Ford, Kelly McGillis, Lukas Haas, Danny Glover

In recent years the thriller genre has become so closely hybridised with action that we expect almost every thriller to be high-octane, ass-kicking entertainment. Whether it's the ultra-macho shootout in Michael Mann's Heat or the second unit work on the Bourne series, when we heard the word 'thriller' we expect everything to be turned up to 11, and if it doesn't feel ridiculous then we haven't got our money's worth.

But the thriller genre is a malleable beast, and there is potential even in the most aggressive and edgy storylines for understated character development and old-fashioned, slow-burning suspense. Witness is a film which demonstrates this with energy and intelligence to spare, and it remains one of Peter Weir's finest films.Over a career lasting over 35 years, Weir has earned himself a reputation as a meticulous craftsman of the cinema. Like Stanley Kubrick he has rarely, if ever, approached the same subject or period twice, and what unites all his works is the impeccable level of craft that goes into making them. You really get the sense watching Witness that this was a labour of love for the director, something he cared about very closely. Considering that he only came to make it after funding for The Mosquito Coast fell through, it is testament to his ability and determination that he didn't simply soft-peddle to get it over with.Witness is a film which showcases Weir's mastery as a storyteller. The thriller elements are introduced seamlessly and convincingly, but they never become so complicated that they overwhelm the human story at the centre. The narcotics plot point is brought in so that it makes sense for McFee to have done what he did, and the conspiracy elements involving police corruption are introduced in a matter-of-fact manner. The film never feels the need to get bogged down in procedure, because Weir knows that the real intrigue lies in the innocent people caught up in the web rather than the structure of the web itself.Weir directs the film in an unusually painterly way, with long wide takes which capture the slow pace of Amish life. Much like Barry Lyndon, we are forced to slow down and accept the often languorous pace at which events unfold, so that it doesn't feel like the lives of the characters are being crowbarred into a generic plot. This is story-telling rather than plot-handling, and like all good storytellers Weir both takes his time and knows when he has overstayed his welcome; despite the leisurely pace, it doesn't feel like a two-hour film.Further evidence of Weir putting characters and story before the demands of a genre are found in the treatment of the culture clash. It would be very easy for Witness to fall into the trap of A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, by having Harrison Ford constantly commenting in the differences in cultures for ill-founded comic effect. Alternatively it could have gone down the route of A Stranger Among Us, Sidney Lumet's misguided thriller in which Melanie Griffith tracks down a murderer by pretending to be Jewish, adopting every conceivable stereotype in a bid to blend in.While its depiction of the Amish lifestyle may not be entirely accurate, it is respectful and very even-handed towards both sides. The film is not looking to portray them as sheltered fundamentalists who are entirely backward or too naïve to function as human beings. But neither does Witness shy away from pointing out the flaws with the Amish religion, or at least demonstrating the downsides to such a particular way of life. The society in which Rachel raises Samuel is very patriarchal, with a man's worth being judged by his capacity for hard work, and there is frequent talk in the latter parts of "shunning" and the dire consequences of this. The film utilises the Amish language (either High German or Pennsylvania Dutch) as an alienating device, much like Alfred Hitchcock did in The Lady Vanishes.

The title of Witness reflects the film's balance and contrast between the spiritual and the temporal, referring to both the act of bearing witness to God's work and testifying in a criminal court. Harrison Ford's character is called John Book - an inversion of the Book of John, also known as John's Gospel. In protecting Samuel from the police who wish to silence him, Book is bearing witness both by observing God's work through the Amish and by doing God's duty in protecting those who cannot protect themselves.Witness approaches spirituality in a mature and considered fashion which is unusually nuanced for Hollywood. You won't find any fire-and-brimstone preachers in this neck of the woods, let alone any of the hysterical wailing present in Carrie. Most of the religious scenes in the film revolve around quiet devotion and the silence of saying one's prayers, and even when things get rather Old Testament, the points aren't hammered home with un-Christian relish.This subtle examination of spirituality allows an accompanying theme to be approached with equal reserve and intelligence. For Witness is also about the limits of authority, whether the police or outsiders who think they can make the rules because they carry guns. Being the only man with a gun for many miles, you would think Book would quickly impose himself on the community - but instead he is forced to obey the rules and turn in his weapon. This is further reflected in the passive resistance of the Amish when they are threatened by Book's superior - a scene which shows that authority comes not merely from power, but respect and acceptance.The Biblical elements of Witness also emerge in the theme of forbidden fruit and the repression of Rachel's sexuality. Kelly McGillis has a recurring trait to her performance, giving a slight smile whenever she glances at Book. This slight smile reflects her inability to open up and acknowledge her womanhood at the cost of her faith. Her passionate kiss with Book in the field is counterpointed by an earlier scene where Book catches her bathing: minutes pass with the characters just looking at each other, both fearful of the consequences of giving in to temptation.Much of the film is about the loss of innocence, whether in Samuel witnessing the murder, Rachel's love for John, or the community being shaken by John's presence and his misguided attempts at delivering justice through violence. After he beats up a group of tourists who were mocking the Amish, one of the elderly locals tells Rachel to rein him in, saying he is "not good for the tourist trade!". The loss of innocence is further reflected in Book's colleagues, who have drifted into narcotics by spending too long on the beat. There are hints of The French Connection about Paul, who like Gene Hackman has become more impulsive and reckless in pursing what he wants.Witness also has a beautifully understated soundtrack. Maurice Jarre, who won a BAFTA for his work, creates a score with the epic sweep of his work with David Lean but with modern trappings courtesy of Vangelis-like synthesisers. There is a recurring theme of one ethereal note being sustained during moments of revelation, such as Samuel recognising McFee from the photo in the trophy cabinet. It's a very effective means of bringing together the old and the new in the story.Witness is a great film and a great piece of storytelling. Harrison Ford is terrific as John Book, bringing understatement and gravitas to a role which demonstrates his talent and range as an actor. McGillis is a great match as Rachel, and Danny Glover is as menacing here as he is in The Colour Purple. It isn't perfect, being a little too slow at times, and the final confrontation between John and Paul threatens to become silly. But it remains one of Peter Weir's finest achievements and proof that thrills don't always have to come from shouting and rapid editing.

Rating:
Verdict: Smart, slow-burning and spiritually insightful

Carrie (USA, 1976)
Directed by Brian De Palma
Starring Sissy Spacek, Amy Irving, Piper Laurie, Nancy Allen

Like Jaws a year before it, Carrie is one of the great happy accidents in horror cinema. Stephen King almost threw away his debut novel out of artistic frustration, and was only paid $2,500 for the film rights. The production was underfunded by United Artists and its director, Brian De Palma, lacked commercial viability, having had only a modest hit with Obsession. But out of this potential disappointment came an engrossing and terrifying film, one of the best Stephen King adaptations and perhaps the high point of De Palma's career.Like a lot of Stephen King adaptations, there was a relatively small gap between Carrie being published as a novel and the film version being released. The only contemporary production with a shorter turnaround was Christine, which went from a novel in April 1983 to being filmed by John Carpenter that same summer and being released in December. Hence it is difficult to judge how much of the film's success lies in De Palma's direction and how much of it lies in the source material.De Palma's biggest contribution, from a narrative point of view, is to take such a relatively simple premise - a high-school girl with telekinetic powers - and explore it over 90 minutes with precious little in the way of padding. Because Carrie was originally intended as a short story, it has an inbuilt modesty which is absent from It or The Shining. But what it lacks in epic storytelling it, more than makes up for in its thematic depth and the intense believability of its characters.Carrie at its most basic is about the horrors of high school: the bullying, the peer pressure, the feeling of being an outcast and, in an exaggerated way, having to live up to the expectations of one's parents. Its influence can clearly be seen in everything from Michael Lehmann's cult classic Heathers to more mainstream efforts like Mean Girls. The opening sequence in the showers sets up the majority of the girls as school as utterly repulsive. Their rapid-fire, everybody-talks-at-once dialogue is obnoxious for all the right reasons, and their posing, pulchritudinous bodies are in stark contrast to Carrie, who is so gaunt and wiry that you might mistake her for Gollum.Within this context, Carrie's telekinesis represents her burgeoning adolescent rage. It begins as something over which she has very little control, but over the course of the film she learns to focus it and use it sparingly. The film uses telekinesis in the same way that Let The Right One In uses vampirism, as a means of expressing a deep emotional reaction to the world by placing it outside of oneself. But as with the final scenes in Let The Right One In, Carrie's abilities are not entirely within her grasp, and at the prom there is still a question of whether she is controlling her powers or the other way around.Carrie is also about the suffocating influence of religion, and in particular its role in the repression and persecution of women. Carrie's mother is a Christian fundamentalist who believes that menstrual bleeding is an indication of sin. When punishing Carrie she continually recites the phrase "Eve was weak" and forces her daughter to repeat it, to confess to a crime that she has committed simply by being born a woman.The mother, played with abandon by Piper Laurie, is essentially a sadomasochistic character. She derives pleasure in the form of spiritual vindication from both inflicting pain on Carrie and by condemning herself. By believing that all women are cursed and sinful, she is submitting herself and her daughter to a greater will, allowing herself to be punished both alongside her daughter and on her behalf. The deep bond between mother and daughter is paralleled by the bond between sex and spirituality. The mother's gasps as she dies are borderline orgasmic, and she dies in the same pose as the icon of Christ in Carrie's closet.The Biblical connotations of Carrie are not confined to the position of women. Carrie's bleeding is interpreted as not just punishment for her own sins, but for the sins of her mother and father. Towards the end of the film, it is revealed that Margaret White slept with Carrie's father outside of wedlock, the implication being that Carrie is illegitimate. The father left the family, perhaps because of the pregnancy, perhaps because he was intimated by Margaret's personality or her faith. For whatever reason, the mother's guilt for that sin is laid upon Carrie; she implicates her daughter because she cannot face and atone for her own sin.In this sense Carrie is immediately comparable to A Nightmare on Elm Street, which dealt with the theme of the sins of the father in a more surrealistic way. But there are also strong connections with Suspiria, Dario Argento's giallo masterpiece which was in pre-production when Carrie was released. Both films are very stylish and striking in their manipulation of colour. Mario Tosi's cinematography contains the same shimmering blues and Technicolor reds that Argento's work features in abundance.

But more than that, both Carrie and Suspiria have huge elements of fairy tales about them. Where Suspiria is modelled on Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Carrie is a reworking of Cinderella with the final act subverted. Instead of a handsome prince coming to save the day and everything working out fine, Carrie descends into hell, embracing her extraordinary powers and losing all feelings for anyone else. In this context Carrie's classmates are the ugly sisters (with the handsome prince being in on the act) and Margaret is the wicked stepmother, a further indication that Carrie is illegitimate.The film simply wouldn't work without the performance of Sissy Spacek, who is nothing short of phenomenal. Having first come to prominence in Badlands, Spacek was originally cast to play Christine Hargensen, the role which eventually went to Nancy Allen. Determined to change De Palma's mind, she smeared Vaseline into her hair and turned up to the final audition in a dress she wore in seventh grade. She brings a heart-breaking fragility to the role, making us feel so strongly for her character that we almost find ourselves cheering in the midst of her carnage. The image of the blood-stained Carrie walking home, or climbing the stairs into the attic, is simultaneously touching and terrifying.The only thing which prevents Carrie from being a full-blooded masterpiece is some of De Palma's visual trickery. Many of his decisions work well, adding to the tone and substance of the film. When Carrie and Tommy are dancing, the camera is at a Dutch angle and twirls around at a faster pace than the couple. This and the final dream sequence, which was filmed in reverse, successfully reinforce the magical, fairy tale quality of the story. And the use of slow-motion up to and include the pig blood falling do add a real sense of tension.But once the pig blood hits the fan, De Palma gets carried away and his visual decisions undercut the climactic scene. Using split-screen undermines the sense of unbridled panic we are meant to have: by asking us to focus on two different things at once, we both lose a sense of scale and find it hard to focus on the often-poetic justice being meted out to. The Metropolis-style kaleidoscope view of people laughing doesn't contribute all that much, and the looping of her mother's voice ("they're all gonna laugh at you!") makes the whole thing feel like the final groove of Sgt. Pepper.Despite its slightly botched ending and some overly conventional jumps, Carrie is a damn fine film which still has the power to unnerve after 35 years. Spacek's extraordinary performance is supported by some fine work from Nancy Allen and Piper Laurie, along with a brief appearance from John Travolta on the cusp of superstardom. Where De Palma's later works would be memorably shocking, this is shockingly memorable, and remains one of the high points of his often distinguished career.

Rating:
Verdict: First-rate teen terror