Absentia (2011) Avoiding Tunnels Now

 Oh, those thin little pedestrian tunnels.

Took this picture back in Traverse City, Michigan.  I did not disappear when I walked through it.  That time, anyway.

 

Not those nice, spacious traffic tunnels that are so safe...oh, wait.  There was that scene in 28 Days Later. Hm.  Well, anyway, the claustrophobic elements of the pedestrian tunnels make them a tad more unnerving.  Add to that a history of Lovecraft-esque colonies of creatures lurking in the walls of the tunnel - and reality - and you have a combination that will make you not want to enter one, day or night, muggers be damned.  This is the scenario presented by writer/director Mike Flanagan in his small but moody film, Absentia.

The winner of a number of film festival awards in 2011, Absentia operates on a small budget with an enormous amount of spirit and atmosphere.  Special effects are minimal, and yet that minimalism only adds to the bigger picture.  I invoked the name Lovecraft earlier.  H. P. Lovecraft penned chilling stories where the ghastly, mind-destroying creatures on the edges of reality weren't revealed in full.  It was the idea of their existence that was terrifying.  We never see a full-on shot of what lies underneath reality in Absentia, but your imagination can fill it in.

Tricia (Courtney Bell) is at a crossroads.  She has moved on in her life after the disappearance of her husband, dating a police detective (Dave Levine) and carrying his child.  Yet she still posts notices right up until she finally decides to have her missing hubby declared "dead in absentia."  Her sister, Callie (Katie Parker), a struggling drug addict and free spirit, arrives to provide moral support.  Tricia begins seeing disturbing apparitions of the missing Daniel (Morgan Peter Brown) while Callie finds herself trying to help an apparently homeless and very frightened man (Doug Jones) in a pedestrian tunnel near Tricia's house.  Things get weirder, especially when Daniel shows up, looking tortured and nearly catatonic.  Where he's been is a mystery, and that unravels as the movie builds towards its inevitable, sad conclusion which I won't spoil here.

You're only given a glimpse of what Daniel has been through, and like a Lovecraft story, the idea of it is scarier than actually seeing it.  Besides the creepiness of the atmosphere surrounding that ominous tunnel, what struck me most was the stellar acting by the two leads, Bell and Parker.  Their scenes together are seamless - you really believe they're sisters.  Individually, their performances are natural and utterly believable.  While Levine, Brown, and the always-a-standout Jones turn in fine performances, it's the team of Bell and Parker that really draw the viewer in.  They don't seem like actors playing a part - they seem real.

Absentia is a small film but is making big waves.  If you want some low-key creepiness chilling you as you ponder what moves beyond the veil of the barely-hanging-on reality around us...yeah, you'll want to avoid pedestrian tunnels after you watch it.

Until next time, dear readers, here's the trailer:

End Of The Line (2007) Maybe They Should Put Up Billboards

Look at me, being all timely.  Well, sort of.  I mean, that piece of work, the bubbly Harold Camping did recently give another one of his spot-on predictions for the end of the world (two weeks ago as of this writing), and he's got another apocalyptic prediction scheduled for October.  Among the first things I thought of, other than the usual disdain that I feel towards money-grubbing, victim-creating crackpots, was the low-budget horror film End Of The Line, an interesting little apocalyptic flick that I saw a couple years ago.  The hamster wheel began turning in my head, and I thought it would be fun to look at it again in the light of all the Family Radio hullabaloo.

Hullabaloo.  Man, how old am I?

Anyway, End Of The Line was a small 2007 film written and directed by Maurice Devereaux, and it was a darling at several film festivals, including the Toronto Film Festival.  Touching on the subject of religious zeal, mob mentality, and fear of the dark and closed-in spaces, the film has its fans (and detractors) in the horror community.  Regardless, it offers a unique take on survival horror.

Karen (Ilona Elkin) heads home from her job at a psychiatric hospital, taking the local subway.  After meeting Mike (Nicholas Wright), who saves her from a seriously creepy guy named Patrick (Robin Wilcock), she boards a train for the ride home.  The train suddenly stops and several passengers, seemingly religious types from the Voice of Hope Church who wear similar clothes and acting generally nice, all get messages on their beepers.  They produce various sharp objects and begin stabbing other passengers, saying things like "God loves you" and "This is for your own good."  The train turns into an abattoir, with only a few - Karen and Mike included - making it off the train in mostly one piece.  But help isn't coming.  The land and cell phone lines are down, and the TV is showing nothing but bizarre images coming from the enigmatic preacher who heads this bizarre cult.  Apparently, they all believe that the Earth is being besieged by demons, and it is the End Times.  They show their "love" by killing others so that they're "spared" the coming apocalypse.  Karen and the survivors head into the tunnels, but getting away isn't so easy.

Man, the Backstreet Boys got DARK.

 The tunnels are crawling with Voice of Hope members, including kids, creepy guy Patrick, and even a member of the survivor's party, although she wants to rebel and go with the dude who took her virginity on the train.  One of the guys who helps them get out of a break room deep in the tunnels is even a member, despite being new and "not really a believer."  The growing paranoia adds to the tension, and Karen's occasional hallucinations don't help.  When they hole up in a control room, where they tie up Patrick, they get their first glimpse of the reverend on a TV, and the murderous chaos is widespread.  He's calling for Armageddon and a "holy rapture"...hm, sound familiar?  Hopefully, Harold Camping hasn't seen this movie.

The survivors, with the exception of the conflicted member and the boy she now loves, move on after hearing the subway workers come under attack.  The scene in which the Hope members descend upon the workers is harrowing and disturbing.  The lengths these people will go to "save" people is horrifying.  Patrick gets loose, and as the pursuing Hope members arrive, the boy and girl are killed.  In the meantime, the survivors have a bloody battle with some more Voice of Hope nutjobs and get away mostly OK, but Mike is hurt badly.  With multiple stab wounds right from the start, this movie just hates poor Mike.

 I LOVE this door!

The survivors split up, but not all of them make it.  Another page beeps for the Voice of Hope members, and they immediately cease their onslaught and take suicide pills.  Still, resident perv Patrick pursues Karen, completely off his rocker.  Karen dispatches Patrick in a most brutal way, and then the movie takes a turn for the weird...or does it?  The ambiguous ending isn't really that ambiguous if you've been paying attention. 

Look and listen during the first few minutes of the movie to pick up on the fact that the movie is not being told in a linear fashion.  While much of the ending is left open for interpretation, there are some helpful hints along the way.  The hallucinations are not coincidental or a throwaway device; they're pretty central to what's happening.  Think muffins.  Yeah, muffins possibly laced with some kind of hallucinogen run throughout the movie, and since we're seeing a lot through Karen's eyes - and she casually eats one early on - we can't always trust what she's seeing.  Are the demons real?  Did Reverend Hope have it right?  Or was he an insane but gifted strategist who plotted the horrible acts of terror?

The performances are quite good, especially from Ilona Elkin as Karen, showing strength and fragility, and Robin Wilcock as Patrick, smarmy and evil, wanting to rape his way to the end of the world.  There is a great deal of gore and scares, mixed with good amounts of tension.  Obviously the budget wasn't very large, but that doesn't matter.  Devereaux works well with what he has, and it's a nice little take on the "end of the world cult lays the nutbar smackdown on the world" subgenre.

It also bears watching since the whole Harold "You Gotta Believe Me This Time" Camping debacle.  A charismatic religious leader creating a following of human lemmings so desperate for spiritual absolution that they're willing to kill because someone tells them to commit murder is comparable to what happens out there in the real world.  How many people base their religion or politics on what someone on TV tells them?  Yeah, a frightening amount.  People who don't think for themselves and blindly follow someone with obvious agendas might be easy targets for jokes, but there's the potential for very dangerous behavior.  End Of The Line shows an extreme, fictional account.  Read the headlines if you want the real chills - or worse yet, the comments sections of any political article.  The looney-tunes in the movie might seem tame compared to what crosses some peoples' minds.

In the meantime, my dear zombie survivors, remember to steer clear of the subways if you see a lot of smiling people all dressed the same.

Roots Of Personal Horror, Volume 1

There have been a lot of factors that lead to my love of the horror genre. Everything from my fascination by the original "Kolchak: The Night Stalker" series to collecting ghost stories contributed something along the way. It's no secret that I have an affinity for apocalyptic revenant or infection fiction. You know, that unstoppable juggernaut of disease that might only spare a few lucky sociological experiments. However, it doesn't take away from my love of supernatural fiction, especially when it involves ghostly, often abandoned, locales.

I may have always been enamored with abandoned places, especially businesses or even spookier, services like hospitals or - gulp - asylums. I don't know. I have always imagined what history they had - they're ghosts with walls. But I can trace back to an adventure on wintry night in Northville, Michigan, when it took root in my subconscious for good.

One of my very best friends, Keith, lived near Detroit and often told us tales of childhood shenanigans. One such set of shenanigans involved sneaking into an enormous complex of abandoned buildings that were once the Wayne County Training School for Feeble-Minded Children. Yeah, you read that right. Try getting away with that kind of name these days. Or don't, because it's not cool. But back in the 1920's, that's what passed for a serious name. To Detroit residents, it was known by the much shorter, much more politically correct, "The Tunnels." This name was a result of the method by which one gets around in there without being detected: the steam tunnels connecting all the major buildings.


One weekend, Keith and I were joined by Ric, another of my very best friends and roommates, and made the trip to Keith's home for the weekend. There, we met up with Jim, Keith's childhood friend who knew The Tunnels like the back of his hand. It was a dreary, hazy winter night. Snow on the ground, slight rain glossing it with an icy sheen. We weren't even there yet, and it was surreal.

The first thing we did was hide from a train. Talk about a bunch of grown men acting like kids in the 1940's, we were that. Plus, we were going into an area that was forbidden. To get caught at that time was a substantial fine for trespassing. We had no intention of vandalizing anything, but the police don't care. Approaching through the woods, we found the first building and in that strange night, our flashlights and the fuzz-toned moon in the sky the only source of light, it looked like ghostly past and post-atomic future all in one.

My mind reeled. I got scared. And then I fell in love.

Old buildings with rust and brick and decay and graffiti, derelicts beached by history. I imagined: what was their purpose? What kind of person worked or lived inside the walls? What ghosts remained?

Jim took us inside the first one, then down into the tunnels themselves. Cramped, we could only go single file in the absolute and pure darkness. There was real danger. Maybe Jim didn't know every nook and cranny of the place. And there were a lot of those. Gangs had been known to frequent the place. We'd heard tales of an LSD-riddled girl trapped down there for who-knows-how-long. When Ric's flashlight started flickering, it was icing on the adrenaline cake.


The everyday trappings of society were everywhere, too. There was a bowling alley in the activity center. We found a pool. A theater. Rooms, beds, desks, even canisters filled with food in the fallout shelter. It was like we'd found a place frozen forever in time, aided by the cold winter air. So quiet, too. Only our voices and the wind, and that was fairly calm.

We saw some other things, too. A blue light moving past a set of windows. Looked at straight on by all of us. No road nearby, so it wasn't headlights. It may have been something entirely innocent, but we've always liked to think it was something else. There was also ominous, telling, and often hilarious graffiti. One scrawled message blurted out "Hail Satin!" I guess we were to praise fabric.

It was a real adventure, almost like the kind The Goonies have, only much less dangerous and marketable. But the images I came away with have stuck with me for years since then. I still dream of underground tunnels, ghostly feelings, and empty places. They aren't nightmares. They're sleep gold.

Much like the horror genre binds many of us as friends, the thrill of The Tunnels binds anyone who visited them. They're gone now, but those who experienced it even once still talk about it. As a wrestling insider in Detroit for a few years, all I had to say was "remember The Tunnels?" and it became a campfire story-fest backstage. Keith, Ric, and I still talk about it to this day. And we toast the memory of Jim, who passed away several years after. He was a really, really good guy.

The abandoned asylum and good friends. The rush of doing something we shouldn't and seeing things that were pieces of history. There is no doubt it contributed to my horror palate.

For some great pictures (which is where I got the two above) try this link at Forgotten Michigan. For more information, including maps, try this link at Northville Tunnels.

Thanks for reading this long post, fellow survivors. See you next time...