A Constant Visual Feast

It’s my sincere belief that horror, as a cinematic playground, is democratic and welcoming to an extent that other modes aren’t. Obvious examples that prove the point would include science fiction and action; low-fi and microbudget example of both exist, but they’re the exceptions rather than the rule. For every Primer or The Artifice Girl, there’s a dozen higher cost productions with spacefaring and worldbuilding aspirations only sizable funding can accommodate. Meanwhile, anyone with a mixer, red food coloring, corn starch, and karo syrup can make a vat of fake blood, fill a dummy head with fat, acrylic eyeballs, goat brains, and your leftover lunch, and boom, that’s a recipe for an exploding brain. 

Okay, so, fine, the Adams family doesn’t get up to anything on the Damien Leone scale, but arguably the ending of Where the Devil Roams blends two parts “fucked up” with one part “uplifting,” though you may see the ratios differently based on your worldview. (I think it’s more uplifting, but I’m a weirdo.) More to the point, these fine folks are just about the best example of how horror’s low cost of entry begets ingenuity*, which begets movies like all of theirs. I love them. And I love this movie. Now: You should love the review I did back in fall of last year for Paste.

*I mention Leone here for a reason: He’s the other best example of how horror’s ambivalence toward resources inspires imaginative people. Not that he and the Adams make horror in the same ballpark, but they do figure out how to make their movies the way they want to make them, and without compromising, either.