Vacancy; Perfect Stranger

Vacancy (Nimrod Antal, 2007) - B+

Rating is almost even higher, actually; frightening and niftily self-reflexive, this is my favorite horror film since The Descent. It's not an entry in what I have resigned to calling the "torture porn" genre,* but it coopts certain elements of the fad and turns the camera on them, so to speak: funny how the snuff videos we glimpse through the panicked eyes of Wilson and Beckinsale, recorded on video using a few stationary cameras and haphazardly edited together, make us shrink away in horror and disgust, while much the same dynamic filled out with Hollywood pyrotechnics evokes merely conventional, conditioned "suspense." It's a neat trick, and all the more potent since the movie works like gangbusters, imagining a genuinely scary scenario and making it even scarier over 80 taut, frantic, logistics-obsessed minutes. The character dynamic at the center -- the protagonists are a wounded couple careening toward an ugly divorce, and on their way from an unpleasant family visit -- provides some emotional context without wasting a minute of screentime, and man does it ever help to have two real actors, rather than bland and anonymous teenyboppers, guiding this sort of movie. One possibility is that Vacancy is too breathlessly entertaining to be a serious examination of our own reactions to it, but I think the fact that it doesn't condemn its own audience is to its credit, and besides, just because the film is interested in what makes horror conventions tick doesn't mean it's not allowed to indulge in some of them as well.

*I'm actually in the process of penning an elaborate defense of "torture porn"; stay tuned.



Perfect Stranger (James Foley, 2007) - C-

For a while, the precise equivalent of an "airport novel" -- pulpy, dumb, and sort of indifferently engaging, it chugs along for a while generating neither disgust nor interest. Then it takes a turn toward lunacy, with a third act that turns it into some sort of treatise on the impossibility of anonymity in these, the Internet Years. (The last shot, of course, is neither here nor there: couldn't people peek out of windows before the world wide web?) Foley tries for a sort of steely, measured elegance -- lots of slow pans and tracking shots; bright, cold colors; glass galore -- but the thing winds up looking like a tv movie (the hysterical flashbacks to the protagonist's abusive childhood don't help any). The plot twists are so arbitrary as to cause physical pain, but aside from that, it's hardly a bore, just a time waster, pure and simple. Bruce Willis fans might tune in on DVD for his enjoyably slimy performance as a shameless, filthy rich womanizer.