Can you smell the
buzz? I refer to The Descent, the new British
sleeper that has horror fans blogging furiously on the
film's growing iconic status. Professional
journalists seem to be split--the Los Angeles
Times trashed The Descent in a review and
then printed a rapturous feature on the movie's
writer/director the next day. Further mixing messages,
the Times placed its Neil Marshall profile
right next to a list of the top 10 scariest films of all
time.
Turns out both
the jaded reviewers and the keyed-up cinephiles are right.
The Descent is an innovative and flawed
addition to the horror canon, and in a year that saw
innumerable remakes, the need for originality
can't be overstated.
The premise is
scrumptious, especially for gay audiences. Six British
friends, all women, nursing a year-old tragedy spelunk
down an Appalachian cave in search of healing and
adventure. Before long, the ladies are lost, trapped,
and being trailed by pasty, barfing cavern people.
While The
Descent could have gone the way of Spice World:
The Cave, it doesn't: The women speak
like adults and dress appropriately (though many of the
women are inexplicably swathed in makeup).
There is an
attempt at character development, no easy task for a movie
forced to devote much of its time to stalking, fake scares,
and gore. The two main women--Sara and Juno
(played by Shauna MacDonald and Natalie Mendoza,
respectively)--are the only ones we really have time
to know. Neither character is entirely good, fully
evil, wholly brave, or completely weak. Marshall
deftly keeps the high drama within the confines of the
girls' established relationships, making it unclear
who is to be trusted and who will be the hero. Sara
and Juno's friendship is fraught with
complications, which plays a role in their survival
(I'm not saying whether either or
both live through their ordeal). The nauseous
albinos are mildly scary, but watching the women anxiously
determine their various fates prompts a great deal
more nail biting.
Anxiety permeates
the film through careful pacing and strong acting.
Marshall--a knowing director--sprinkles visually
stunning images and subtle clues throughout that
provide fodder for post-viewing discussion.
Marshall seems to
go out of his way to assign gender to his monsters. In
a scene that elicited audience cheers, two of the women beat
the crap out of a couple of male creatures. They
don't just defend themselves: The women
brutalize their male attackers with such glee they seem to
be paying back the entire sex for every injustice
ever wrought. It's pretty fun.
Too bad more
money wasn't thrown at this production--special
effects are weak, at times "Ed Wood"
bad. Some of the scares are too easy as well. These
slights should be forgiven because of the ample adrenaline
The Descent churns up. Even the bone-chilling
poster--though a retread of a Dali painting and
evocative of the one-sheet for The Silence of
the Lambs--is unsettling. Speaking of
Silence, The Descent reminds us in part why
Jodie's film was so much fun: A woman saves the
day.
