The Ninth Gate (France/ Spain/ USA, 1999)
Directed by Roman Polanski
Starring Johnny Depp, Lena Olin , Frank Langella, Emmanuelle Seigner

With the notable exception of Se7en, numerical horror-thrillers are utter rubbish. With their ridiculous twists, over-the-top acting and an overreliance on special effects, they epitomise all that is banal and disappointing about these two genres. You would think that Roman Polanski, the man who gave us Repulsion and Rosemary's Baby, would be able to handle such well-worn material in at least a workable manner. But instead we end up with a ripe old stinker every bit as disappointing as Prince of Darkness.Polanski has always been a fan of absurdist, quirky comedy, being greatly influenced by France's crown prince of absurdity, Eugene Ionesco. While absurdity in and of itself is no bad thing, Polanski has always been at his best when this aspect of his sensibility has been minimised, or at least properly accommodated. You have to admire him for being able to switch between bleak, serious works like Tess and The Pianist, and something more fun and frothy like Frantic. But his out-and-out exercises in comedy have dated very badly, with What? being the worst example.Further doubts are raised by Polanski's attitude towards the source material. When interviewed in 1999 he said that he didn't believe in the supernatural - something you would never have guessed from Rosemary's Baby. He was drawn to the novel El Club Dumas by Arturo Pérez-Reverte because it was an opportunity to play with the clichés of a genre that he enjoyed. The consequence is that we aren't sure how seriously Polanski is taking things, and therefore how seriously we should be taking him.The Ninth Gate starts off quite atmospherically, with good pacing, dusty books and nice gothic colours. Film noir touches are evident throughout, from the archetype of the downbeat detective (or "book detective" in this case) to the enigmatic women in his life. Like so many noirs or Hitchcock films, the blond is enigmatic but for the most part on the hero's side, while the brunette is seductive and passionate to the point of being pure evil.Having set things up quite nicely in the first ten minutes, The Ninth Gate starts to crumble as more and more ridiculous elements encroach. We might swallow the story about the three copies of The Nine Gates, if only because Frank Langella sounds authoritative as he wades through exposition. But subsequent developments are so clouded or convoluted that we quickly give up trying to figure it all out, insofar as there is anything to figure out. It feels like the sort of thing that Polanski could have done in his sleep - and for much of the film, he might as well have done.All the big plot points in The Ninth Gate can be anticipated because they borrow all too heavily from better genre efforts. Having Dean Corso commissioned to search for The Nine Gates is exactly the same set-up as Angel Heart, but with a book instead of a jazz musician. His infiltration of a secret ceremony is lifted from The Wicker Man, and the mansion scenes strongly resemble Eyes Wide Shut, although this may be coincidental. There are also very standard references to The Omen in the use of 666, for instance, The NINE Gates being published in 1666. There is even a nod to An American Werewolf in London, as Corso arrives at the castle in a truck full of sheep.Having given up on taking The Ninth Gate seriously, the next logical step is to try and enjoy it as a comedy, perhaps as an unintentional one. But the comedic elements are so completely at odds with Polanski's execution of the twists that they feel like they have escaped from a different film. The twin brothers, who are played by the same actor via split screen, bumble their way through their lines like a cross between Thomson and Thompson from Tintin and Alf Garnett in Till Death Us Do Part.The silliness of the supporting characters increases as the film moves on. Baroness Kessler, played by Barbara Jefford, is introduced as a formidable character of real threat to Dean Corso - who then slips almost immediately into pantomime villain mode when we discover that she only has one hand. Corso later finds her slumped in her motorised wheelchair having been strangled: he turns the wheelchair around, only for her to go careering through the double doors, like Mason Verger's death in Hannibal two years later.Like many numerical thrillers, The Ninth Gate suffers from dodgy special effects. It's hardly a dull car crash like End of Days, in which Gabriel Byrne demonstrates his demonic power by blowing everything up, and Arnold Schwarzenegger try to stop him with a grenade launcher. But alongside bad continuity and an unconvincingly burnt book, there are at least two examples of dodgy wire work, in which Emmanuelle Seigner floats down into a scene, without any prior clue that she could fly.The Ninth Gate is littered with irritating plot holes which leaving us scratching our heads even in the moments when generic convention could fill in the gaps. There is no explanation of the serpent tattoo on the brunette's back, nor of Boris Balkan's ability to know exactly where Corso is at any one time - which is, conveniently, always within reach of a phone. But more annoying than either of these is Polanski's contempt for the subject matter. It's hard to believe that either Corso or Balkan know or care so much about rare tomes when they treat them so carelessly. They don't bother to handle them with gloves, flip through ancient pages like they were airport paperbacks and carry them around in scruffy bags which get flung everywhere.This care-free attitude spills over into the performances. Johnny Depp had wanted to work with Polanski for some time, but Polanski didn't tell him that he wasn't giving the performance that he wanted - in other words, he was almost completely undirected in the role. To be fair to Depp, he gets the physical stuff right, modelling himself on Raymond Chandler and being more convincing than he is in Secret Window. But otherwise it's pretty phoned-in, with Polanski being unable or unwilling to tease out the greatness that Tim Burton or Terry Gilliam had managed.Frank Langella is no stranger to trashy villains, having played Skeletor in the awful He-Man movie, Masters of the Universe. He does the best with a surprisingly underwritten role, looking a little bit like Michael Redgrave in The Dambusters. Lena Orin has far too little to do beyond flashing her stocking tops in the first half-hour and then dressing up like the actress from Scottish Widows for the satanic ceremony. As for Seigner, she does a good demon stare, but otherwise she's too airy-fairy, wafting through the scenery as if she doesn't really care who she's playing or what she's doing. In any case, it's essentially the same character she plays in Frantic - the quirky outsider who helps the male protagonist, only this time she's the devil as well.The final nail in The Ninth Gate's coffin comes with its ending, which is hopelessly dragged out and completely incoherent. We get to see Langella self-immolate and fail to pass through the Ninth Gate - but that's not the end. Seigner makes love to Depp against the flames with her demon eyes, the camera zooms in on Depp as if he realises who she is all along, and he seems about to scream - but that's not the end. After the two drive back, and Seigner remarks "is that it?" (to which the answer is "no"), Depp goes back to the bookshop and finds the missing page - but that's not the end. Depp then goes back to the castle and the screen fades to white, in one of the most shambolic and unsatisfying endings in 1990s cinema.The Ninth Gate is an example of what happens when a great director indulges themself to the extent that they no longer feel the need to try. As an exercise in supernatural horror it is every bit as rubbish as Prince of Darkness: Polanski's film looks better, but Carpenter's was shorter. In attempting to put his stamp on overly familiar elements, Polanski fails to deliver chills, thrills or knowing laughs. Thank God that he redeemed himself beyond all recognition just three short years later.

Rating:
Verdict: One of Polanski's few bad films

The Others (Spain/ France/ Italy/ USA, 2001)
Directed by Alejandro Amenabar
Starring Nicole Kidman, Alakina Mann, James Bentley, Fionnula Flanagan

In my review of The Secret Garden, I said that many films which are held up as British classics are the result of a collaboration between British and international talent - in this case, a Polish director adapting a British book from an American screenplay. It is fitting therefore that the tradition of old-fashioned English and American ghost stories should be most fittingly upheld by an international director, which brings us, (super)naturally, to The Others.At its most basic level, The Others is a stylish and evocative throwback to the classic Victorian ghost stories, which in turn formed the basis for 1960s horror classics like The Haunting and The Innocents. Like the latter of these films, The Others has its roots in Henry James' renowned novella The Turn of the Screw: both revolve around children whom, it is suggested, can interact with a world beyond our own. There are also hints of The Shining in the use of panning shots throughout the house, and in several of the music cues. Alejandro Amenabar borrows from Wendy Carlos in his use of deliberate anti-climaxes following by deep terror.The Others takes place on the Channel Island of Jersey just after the Second World War. The setting is interesting due to the cultural differences between the Islands and mainland Britain, and the fact that they were occupied by the Germans (although Nicole Kidman is keen to point out that none of them made it to the house). Amenabar exploits these differences to quickly create an unsettling, 'other-worldly' feel: we recognise all the hallmarks of 1940s fashion and architecture, but they are so precisely and readily positioned that something doesn't seem right.The film evokes the immediate post-war period very effectively. Although the majority of shooting was done in Spain, the house feels British in every detail. The ornate and elegance furniture, the empty, echoing halls, the pale but elaborate costumes - it is almost too perfect in its recreation of wartime Britain. The film has a very pale visual palette to underscore the age of the characters' environment and the sense of personal and national exhaustion. Javier Aguirresarobe, who later shot The Road, contrasts light and dark to such an extent that it almost feels like sepia, hinting at the chilling revelations lurking in the old photographs.Because of its affection for classic cinematic ghost stories, The Others does contain a fair number of familiar elements. The elderly housekeeper may be much nicer than Mrs. Danvers, but she still has ulterior motives and secrets to hide. In a further reference to Rebecca (which itself borrowed heavily from Jane Eyre), one of the key plot twists concerns the contents or inhabitants of an attic. The use of fog as a meeting point between this world and the next borrows not only from John Carpenter's The Fog but from gothic horror: Susan Hill's The Woman in Black is set in a house cut off by marshland, and the title character first appears after the fog comes in.With so many familiar elements in play, there comes a point where the film has to make its own mark on the genre. It takes a while for it to do so, but it eventually achieves this through both technical proficiency and the substance of its storyline. On a technical level, The Others is very creepy. Amenabar uses the pale cinematography and period dressing to play up all the creaks and shadows (and there are a lot of shadows), and he achieves two really big jumps: one with the door closing on Nicole Kidman's face, the other involving the old woman and the cupboard where the children are hiding.Like all great ghost stories, The Others makes you question whether or not you saw something, and what that something might have been. It shares with The Haunting and The Innocents the device of a central female protagonist who, in one interpretation, has gone completely round the twist. The film establishes Grace as the audience's guide, using her strict values and sense of conviction to unnerve us. During the opening act, her character is set up as someone completely orderly and in control, in contrast to Nell in The Haunting, who was always a little on edge. Hence when the strange noises start to occur, we experience either the act of someone going mad or Grace's genuine shock at seeing her values so deeply questioned.Whereas The Haunting explored possible scientific explanations for the strange goings-on in a dark house, The Others is primarily concerned with the role that religion plays in dealing with or understanding the world beyond this. Grace remarks early in the film that she "doesn't like fantasies": she is a staunch Catholic who takes literally both the teachings of the Bible and, even more so, the Church's views on purgatory. The film's view of religion is mixed - faith in the afterlife is rewarded, while the dogma to which Grace clings turns out not to be enough.When Grace's religious outlook interacts with those of her children, The Others drifts closer to the work of Guillermo del Toro, who directed his own ghost story in The Devil's Backbone and would later produce The Orphanage. An underlying theme of del Toro's work is that of children being able to connect with another world, with some underlying force which adults have chosen to ignore or dismiss outright. When Grace's children say that they don't believe all that they have been taught about God and the afterlife, it's not simply a reflection of a lack of faith. It is a sign that they see the truth, the horrifying magic which Grace denies or avoids; as Roald Dahl wrote in The Minpins, "those who don't believe in magic will never find it".The Others is very smart in tricking us over where the boundaries between the living and the dead lie. In light of its final twist, the reunion between Grace and her husband (Christopher Eccleston) gains an added layer of poignancy; the joy and subsequent strain of reunion becomes overladen with grief and despair. Like The Shining, the film suggests that portions of individuals' souls are imparted into a location or building which has significance in their life, and that after death their spirit returns, as if one's life were recurring in eternity with all by way of meaning plain to see.The Others is also boosted by its great performances. It finds Nicole Kidman in her prime, following up her excellent work in Moulin Rouge! the same year. She has often been criticised for being brittle, but here it is entirely appropriate that she be highly strung: her character is very close to Deborah Kerr's in The Innocents, and she delivers a performance which is almost on a par with that. There are also great performances by the two child actors: Alakina Mann is terrific as the impetuous Anne, and is matched beautifully by James Bentley, who later played Geoffrey Rush's son in The Life and Death of Peter Sellers.There are a couple of flaws with The Others. Although its ideas are interesting and thoroughly explored, it remains just a little too generic: it doesn't develop or advance the genre in the way that del Toro's efforts have done. It is a little too long, being very slow at the beginning and predictable towards the end. And in the scenes involving the medium, it treads a fine line between creepiness and Blithe Spirit, with the deadpan delivery of the medium's observers threatening to tip us over that line.The Others is a stylish and creepy retuning of a classic ghost story. In spite of its flaws it still delivers a satisfying amount of substance and shivers, which have not decreased in the decade since its twist was first revealed. Kidman and her child co-stars are on scintillating form, matched by solid support work from Eccleston and a 78-year-old Eric Sykes. Though it has since been eclipsed by The Orphanage, it still has the power to chill.

Rating:
Verdict: Chilling if a tad generic

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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