Censor

Embodying the chilling effects of Dario Argento’s horror subgenre ‘giallo’ thrillers and the voyeuristic sensibility of Michael Powell’s Peeping Tom (Michael Powell, 1960), Censor (Prano Bailey-Bond, 2021) is the feature length directorial debut of Prano BaileyBond. The film is a welcome addition to the cannon of inventive horror movies that not only depict gory violence but examine why we watch it.

It is the mid 1980’s in Britain and the ‘video nasties’ debate is at its height. The low-budget horror movies containing scenes of severe and pornographic brutality are causing widespread outrage among the media and public about their effect on ‘impressionistic young children’ and their blending of ‘fact and fiction’. Interacting directly in this environment is our chief protagonist Enid Baines (Niamh Algar). As a strict film censor, Enid is committed to eradicating as much barbarity and savagery as possible in a desire to protect society from their pernicious influence. That is until she comes across a film that seems to re-enact her sister’s disappearance at the age of seven, an event which has traumatised Enid ever since. From this point onwards the stability of real life starts to unravel as Enid rapidly descends into an ever-increasing hysteria.

Credit must first be attributed to Bailey-Bond, her cinematographer Annika Summerson and production designer Paulina Rzeszowska, whose combined efforts produced an omnipresent atmospheric unease and tension that did not falter from beginning to end. Achieving this, was the deliberate textured gloominess of the frame’s composition, the constant close-ups of Enid’s facial contortions and nervous tic and the gloomy stagnancy of virtually ever setting from the film censorship office to the public underground. The filmmakers went as far as shrinking the aspect ratio to spatially communicate the declining lucidity of Enid as time progressed. This is not to mention Emilie Levienaise-Farrouch music, which seemed to pervade and intensify every shot, echoing Argento’s masterpiece Deep Red (Dario Argento, 1975). Like contemporary horror movies such as Jordan Peele’s US (Jordan Peele, 2019) or Ari Aster’s Midsommar (Ari Aster, 2019), Bailey-Bond’s film accomplishes the fiendish challenge of convincingly displaying the fraying of society’s conforming forces on the main character. Yet on a more profound level this is utilised to convey the film’s underlying message. Although separate and with drastically different motivations, Enid is similar to Mark Lewis (Karlheinz Böhm) in Peeping Tom, an artistic tool used to question the factors that compel us to watch and engage in these visual narratives. Is it a desire for escapist fantasy? Or a hidden pleasure we derive from accessing someone else’s world unbeknownst to them? Or perhaps a combination of both? The film’s ending hints at an answer without being definitive, leaving it to the audience to speculate and interpret.

This review cannot go on without mentioning the performance of Niamh Algar. Her portrayal of Enid is superb, selling the viewer utterly on her characters’ fall into delirium and hallucinatory righteousness.

Nonetheless the film is not without its blemishes. It is too short at 84 minutes, whether down to the script or financial constraints, the dramatic effect would have been enhanced if there had been a more prolonged balance before its decisive tonal change. Ultimately though, Censor is a brilliantly crafted and refreshingly thought-provoking horror movie.

The film is a welcome addition to the cannon of inventive horror movies that not only depict gory violence but examine why we watch it. James Mahon reviews Prano Bailey-Bond’s Censor, which is released in Irish cinemas this Friday.

Lin Manuel Miranda’s fall from grace was sudden and public. Legitimate criticisms about his hit musical ‘Hamilton’ glorifying slave owners soon descended to lip biting memes on TikTok. However, a common theme throughout Miranda’s career seems to be a lack of self-awareness, an aggressively earnest belief in himself and an adamant certainty that he can do no wrong. This fatal flaw has followed him throughout his career and helped him become the symbol of ‘fake-wokeness’ and ‘millennial cringe’, and it has most definitely followed him to the adaptation of his 2008 musical ‘In the Heights’. Whether it be the ignoring of the Afro-Latino community or Miranda’s butt-clenching awkward cameo, In the Heights (Jon M. Chu, 2021) despite not being directed or adapted for the screen by Miranda, it still has all his failings. However, its problems run deeper than that.

With the looming threat of gentrification, simply getting by is becoming more and more of a challenge for the residents of Washington Heights. In The Heights follows the dynamic citizens of this neighbourhood as they struggle to find a better life.

In the Heights is the kind of film that reminds you of the importance of cinemas. Director John M. Chu creates a vibrant and bombastic world. Every closed door or dropped box or even step taken is intentional, creating a rhythm to the world, an immersive experience worth the €15 ticket and criminally overpriced popcorn. It also feels like a return to movie musicals’ roots. With the exception of The Greatest Showman (Michael Gracey, 2017), recent musicals seem to think the only way to be taken seriously is to be as gritty as possible, like if they were fun, they wouldn’t stand a chance at winning an Oscar. In the Heights doesn’t fall into this trap; while it doesn’t stick to serious subject matter all the time, it isn’t afraid to be camp either. Every song feels like an event, whether it be the grandiose ‘96,000’ or the intimately romantic ‘When the Sun Goes Down’. It’s hard not to watch the musical numbers with a smile on your face. It’s when the music stops that the problems begin. Chu, Miranda and screenwriter Quiara Alegría Hudes seem to be tackling a smorgasbord of issues. From gentrification to immigration to racial discrimination, In the Heights tries to be a film that talks about every issue facing Latin Americans, but instead essentially covers none. By biting off more than it can chew, In the Heights strips all the nuance from every issue and instead gives us a surface level exploration of overly-simplified issues affecting characters that aren’t developed enough for us to truly understand. Except for the protagonist Usnavi (Anthony Ramos), characters seem to let go of strongly held beliefs at the drop of a hat, giving audiences whiplash.

It’s a shame that with In the Heights Chu fell into the same trap as Miranda. Skimming over important issues to seem woke without going into the depth they deserve. If the film had picked just one character to focus on and gave their story the nuance it deserved, then In the Heights could have been a modern classic, telling a story absent from mainstream cinema. But instead, In the Heights is a film best enjoyed by turning off your brain and enjoying the fun songs.

- Katie McKenna

Where The Wild Things Are A Perspective Changing Film

Three years ago, while working at a filmmaking summer camp on a rainy day, I put on my favourite childhood film Where the Wild Things Are (Spike Jonze, 2009) for the campers, and left to catch up on some editing. An hour later my boss walked into my edit suite, arms crossed. “Katie, all the kids are crying”. Where the Wild Things Are follows Max (Max Records), a 9-year-old who runs away from his unhappy home to an island full of friendly creatures which may not be as idyllic as it first seems.

When I got home from the summer camp that day, I put on the film again. How could a movie that had meant so much to me and made me want to tell my own stories cause so much upset? I hadn’t remembered the plot, just the elation I’d felt walking out of the cinema. I knew immediately that I wanted to make films too.