'Gate of the Ghost' a Colorful, Pointless 'Rashomon' Remake

Directed by: M.L. Bhandervanop Devakul; Runtime: 107 minutes
Grade: C-

Remakes can be tricky business: should they stay true to the source out of respect and diligence towards theme preservation, or should they attempt to adjust the story's context and visual tone to achieve something both similar and noticeably unique? It's even tougher to land on an answer to that with iconic cinema such as Akira Kurosawa's oeuvre; arguably the most successful reimaginings of his work break away from overt similarities to the source, such as The Magnificent Seven and Last Man Standing. At the Gate of the Ghost -- aptly titled The Outrage in its native Thailand -- attempts an almost precise duplication of Rashomon, from the way the characters look and act down to its strict philosophical ideas about human dishonesty and perspective. Despite justifiable performances and a lush visual tone, such a literal replica of a classic masterwork doesn't really give itself a reason for existing, and the film's few minuscule changes are either heavy-handed or redundantly articulate what's already said on a nonverbal level.

The only thing differentiating M.L. Bhandervanop Devakul's adaptation from its source is the more direct Buddhist angle that frames it, as well as a clearer emphasis on the importance of those telling the story of dishonesty and deceit in a murder trial. Seeking shelter in the midst of torrential rainfall, a devout monk (Mario Maurer) and a common woodcutter (Petchtai Wongkamlao) sit around a campfire as they contemplate the wrongs of the world and how it pertains to offset "dharma", their minds lingering on testimonies they had recently heard about the killing. Later joined by a vagabond "undertaker" (Pongpat Wachirabunjong) who offers a pragmatic, unsavory point of view to their idealistic concerns, they all retrace the testimonies of three people in the case of a warlord's murder: the words of a famous bandit (Dom Hetrakul) charged with the death, of the dutiful widow (Chermarn Boonyasak), and an of the warlord himself (Ananda Mathew Everingham). The story is a straightforward exploration of culling falsities from truth, and vice versa, until their conflicting points-of-view -- and their interpretations of one another -- are called into action.

Rashomon strikes a balance between the characters' perspectives and whether the real focus is the testimony's subjects or those telling their stories, something At the Gate of the Ghost loses by shining a spotlight on the conflicted monk. Beginning with a grandiose, heavy illustration of a young boy's development from a common child to a devout Buddhist, the tone crafted here is one of a religious man finding his way back to the right caliber and focus of his belief structure through his societal comprehension -- and how murder, deceit, and selfishness weaken his resolve. While it doesn't necessarily take away from the intentions of Kurosawa's original film, it does add a slant to its tone that limits effectiveness on a wider scale; believers and non-believers can both appreciate the gray-area morality in the original, while intentionally filtering that through the eyes of a monk adds something else to the equation. Since that's where most of the added content comes from, it's a weaker and more narrow-focused film for it.

Aside from that, At the Gate of the Ghost essentially plays out as a verbatim, colorful reenactment of Kurosawa's film once it gets all the philosophical debaters under the same roof in the same cavern for their campfire storytelling, each yarn crafted with easily admirable passion and visual grandeur. Choreographed sword battles and a shifting gradient of pain and anger in the tied-up warlord's disposition are beautiful in their familiarity, while there's a stunning scene involving a shaman channeling a spirit from the afterlife, her black teeth and long-curled nails creating an striking display of mysticism. Director M.L. Bhandervanop Devakul achieves many the same takeaway points -- numerous versions of the same people in different contexts, unreliable narration, biased motivations, constant variables -- all cradled in Thailand's opulent settings of cascading waterfalls and convoluted forests. And while there's a lack of dimension to the performance, the cast suitably acts out their respective roles in the varied recounts: some selfish, some noble, some cunning, some affable.

Unfortunately, the variation of the "crime scenes" emphasizes each version of the murder being a "completely different story" a little to on-the-nose, since they lack the ability to truly express that there could be other truths hidden among the testimonials. Each recount in At the Gate of the Ghost is too disparate, too black-and-white, reaching a point where the best course of action is to dismiss almost all viewpoints as unreliable (aside from one, small fact) instead of a sliding scale of integrity, something counterproductive to what the film aims to accomplish. What's really frustrating about this, as the film moves along, is its fondness for verbalizing aloud what simple interpretation gets across in Kurosawa's original, forcing it into a corner of tiring existential clarification that makes the story appear less intellectually engaging. This might seem like splitting hairs when comparing the two, especially when they're seventy (70!) years apart, but when films are this similar outside of some tricky alterations, it's hard to overlook those issues when digging into a revitalization of one of cinema's great critiques on perspective.

Drinks, Dialogue, Delirious Drama Hallmark 'Sexy Evil Genius'

Directed by: Shaun Piller; Runtime: 91 minutes
Grade: C

At the beginning of Sexy Evil Genius, a trio of starkly-different strangers sit down over drinks in a largely-dead metropolitan bar, where they proceed to chat about good times and bad involving their mutual, mentally-unhinged ex-girlfriend, Nikki. They're not shy about it either, dishing out stories of obsession, love lost and how they were eventually shafted in one way or another. Steadily, and humorously, these characters take shape by revealing more about their failed relationships and life post-Nikki, all because their scheming ex covertly got them all together for ... some eventually-revealed purpose. That component works in Shawn Piller's crafty little comedy-mystery, a chatty never-leave-the-room lark that's more of a blend between stage performance and an extended skit than much of a movie. And it's entertaining in its own twisted little way, as long as it focuses on speculative gossip among spurned lovers and avoids revealing the actual purpose behind getting them all under the same roof.

This scenario could almost be misinterpreted as a dream in the mind of a sleeping TV geek, as if characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, LOST, and Battlestar Galactica have gathered together in a bizarro universe for the purpose of willfully defying their pre-established types. Seth Green plays a levelheaded, suit-wearing salesman, Zach; Michelle Tractenberg dons dark eyeliner and a sour demeanor as an alternative ex-addict, Miranda; a laid-back Harrold Perrineau muses about the soul and authenticity of jazz as Marvin; and, in a twist, Flatliners and Virus actor William Baldwin is a silver-tongued, morally-grey defense attorney, Bert. They're all drawn to their "sexy evil genius", Nikki, and Katee Sackhoff's fiery eyes and blown-back hair cleverly avoid the attributes that accentuate her Toaster-killin' fame-maker. Sure, these are some rather on-the-nose, one-dimensional characters, but that simplicity eventually serves a purpose once their conversations formulate some common grounds.

Witty dialogue -- perhaps a little too witty -- bounces between the assorted ex-lovers in Scott Lew's script, playing to their character types without really betraying their semi-authentic personalities. In terms of pure surface-level enjoyment, watching this banter can be fun long before the topic of their conversation arrives, long before Sexy Evil Genius really even has a purpose beyond the vague "Nikki's up to something ... again". It's amusing to see Zach fiddle with his olive-laden martini while wrapping his mind around his ex-girlfriend in a lesbian relationship, as is observing Marvin's reaction when he discovers what kind of music his bongo-banging ex really likes. The strengths in Lew's writing become obvious once Nikki's motivations, and the underlying plot developments, start to detract from that clever synergy; in a way, I almost wish that Nikki had stayed away until much, much later on. The dialogue's ability to put this mostly-invisible woman on a pedestal, reducing these sharp people to her thralls, are what held my attention.

Eventually, Sexy Evil Genius pulls the curtain back on the reason for Nikki's scheming -- involving deaths, stalkers, substance abuse, secrets from the past relationships, and a desire for revenge -- which presents a frustrating and unrecoverable kink in Shawn Piller's film. Nikki is a feisty mix of brilliance and insanity, and her feistiness is great to behold when filtered through the BSG veteran's edge, but the shady baggage her character brings to the table becomes too much for the story's quaint charisma to shoulder. Some of the film's best moments, such as the personalized ways Nikki greets her exes and identifies their beverages, are soon weakened once her overly-chaotic inclinations force black-comedy absurdity into the mix. Mind you, the performances maintain the same pulse as they do in the beginning, allowing the characters to amusingly wrap around the situation as it grows out of control; they're all in top form, straight-faced and frazzled, as they adjust to the scenario. There's just way too much dark, inane drama.

The main thing keeping Sexy Evil Genius from blowing out of control is the confinement of its one-set location, creating an almost literal stage effect -- a faint Hitchcockian ode that's better at grounding the plot that enhancing suspense. Outside of colorful flashbacks manipulated by distorted blues and erratic lens flares, almost everything takes place within plain, public view at the heart of the bar; a few privacy-required scenes shuffle over into the bathroom. This becomes important as the "danger" mounts among the group's later inebriated conversations, and it's one of the reasons why Shane Pillar's film ultimately sustains a meager amount of interest through its hectic climaxes. Without that novelty, without the ability to watch this sarcastic play resolve its story threads and motivations in a single spot, it would've appeared far too indulgent as the skeletons in Nikki's closet come tumbling out in a precarious jumble. Like this, at least there's a glint of appeal in seeing the evil genius' scheme come to fruition among her admirers.

'Mama': An Atmospheric Horror Fable With a Frustrating End

Directed by: Andres Muschiette; Runtime: 100 minutes
Grade: B

Oftentimes, it seems as if films "presented by" directors take that approach solely to draw attention to emerging talents and generate theater turnout, but this isn't exactly the case for the works touted by Guillermo Del Toro, where he often serves as an active producer. Between The Orphanage and now Andres and Barbara Muschietti's Mama, his fingerprints -- entrancing visuals, robust characters, and eerie atmosphere -- can clearly be spotted and noticeably elevate the creations under his wing, while allowing the respective directors' viewpoints to shine through. The inspiration for this particular fable of absent parentage and looming secrets is a three-minute short by the Muschiettis, featuring a disturbing, gangly-armed "mother" who stomps after two children in a dimly-lit home. Extended into a warped study of unlikely mothers and spectral guardians that look over feral daughters, this is a flawed, slight, yet consistently haunting parable that wouldn't appear out-of-place among its presenter's own work.

Mama goes down that well-worn path of dark and quixotic children's horror that Del Toro has brought somewhat to the mainstream, depicting a pair of sisters, Victoria (Megan Charpentier) and Lilly (Isabelle Nelisse), left to fend for themselves in a forested cottage following a car accident. Thought to be lost, but not without being sought by their uncle, Lucas (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, Game of Thrones), the girls are rediscovered five years later in that same cottage -- filthy, crawling like animals, and detached from normal emotion and maturity. Despite offers to take the children into more suitable custody, Lucas maintains a stern desire to keep the girls, despite not really having the means to do so. A solution arises in a house built for psychological evaluation, where Lucas and his prickly rocker girlfriend, Annabel (Jessica Chastain, Zero Dark Thirty), would look after them while they're under continuous evaluation by psychologist Dr. Dreyfuss (Daniel Kash). A question remains, though: how were the girls able to care for themselves in the wild, and who is this nonexistent "mama" they say looked after them?

Annabel provides a necessary dimension to the story in the form of a headstrong bass player who isn't really built for the domestic-parent lifestyle, or, at the very least, isn't ready for it at this point in her life. She's an interesting challenge for Jessica Chastain: harsher, resistant, driven less by empathy and optimism than her other name-making roles. But she's also crucial to the dramatic backbone supporting the spook tactics to come in Mama; Annabel's ability to adapt to the situation, and her growing pains while trying to be a stand-in mother to oddly-behaving daughters, jumps between frustration with parenting to a young(er) rocker's decision whether to endure the situation or not. Unlike other up-and-coming actresses who fall prey to horror-suspense films that don't do their careers any favors, Chastain not only enhances what's otherwise a contrived slate of scenarios, she becomes crucial to both the eeriness and emotional purpose that the Muschiettis eventually aim for.


The complicated maternal setup works well once the scares emerge in Mama (and once Annabel is forced to care for the girls by herself), providing a levelheaded opportunity for Andres and Barbara Muschietti's ideas to unnervingly creep out of the shadows. Steadily, we learn what's followed Victoria and Lilly from the cottage, and the role ... it served in their life while they were secluded for five years. Their ethereal little secret avoids our field of vision through clever plays on perspective that Antonio Riestra's cinematography achieves -- namely, the mischievous framing of multiple rooms within one shot, relishing who's in each and who isn't. The spacious, creak-and-slam-friendly house provides corners and corridors for Annabel to creep herself out in, while flickering lights and guitar amplifier feedback rattle the nerves through a few unnecessary but heart-thumping parlor tricks. Conventional jump-scares and glimpses into shadowy spaces end up appearing too orthodox for such a distinctive and straight-faced supernatural mystery, but they're polished, austere, and maintain a marvelously macabre atmosphere that begs for "mama" to make its mysterious presence known, a mix of curiosity and trepidation.

Written by the Muschiettis and television scribe Nick Cross, the script sustains its supernatural purposes by focusing on a mystery to be solved about the girls' elusive guardian, as they tiptoe around the evil stirring in the house; in fact, it's rather compelling on those simple terms. Once it goes any deeper than that, though, Mama becomes harder to take seriously. Dark, decaying magical holes in walls, creepy moths, and household accidents deal out visceral scenarios more concerned with unnerving the audience with arty horror instead of allowing the drama to keep a level head. What's more, the characters have that age-old fascination with sleuthing at night just so the darkness can cheaply draw them into powerlessness. Chastain's performance and the undertones about an evolving maternal bond beckon those watching to grasp what's going on, empathize, and care about their well-being -- which does work -- but getting wrapped up in those intentions becomes difficult when the characters are corralled into plot-rigged traps.

Mama struggles to right an uneven balance between inspiration and creative prudence all the way to the conclusion -- a bold, devious, but bizarrely forced culmination on a craggy moonlit bluff, underscored by maternal instincts and the eerie mystery that unraveled alongside the scares. While this is an unapologetic supernatural hybrid of horror and melodrama from start to finish, the melancholy ending crosses a line in both emotionally-charged and unsatisfying ways, plagued with the rough kind of ambiguity that provokes somber questions about the outcome and mandatory moral grayness. Andres Muschietti's film achieves a suitable evolution of Annabel's nature against a supernatural force of domineering parenthood, where stark atmosphere both weathers and warms her, but it comes remarkably close to undermining the effort in one fell swoop of forced misinterpretations and last-minute empathy. It's a good thing, then, that the atmosphere works so well leading right up to it.