After much
anticipation, I got to see the new portmanteau horror/comedy film ‘Tales from
the Lodge’ this week. It’s written and directed by Abigail Blackmore, who was a
key member of the ‘Class of 2008’ on Twitter, of which I was lucky enough to
play a small part, if only mostly as a spectator.
But more of
that anon. (That means nearer the end, Gran).
The set-up is
pleasingly familiar, A bunch of thirtysomething pals reunite at a remote holiday
cottage to memorialise their friend and spread his ashes more or less on the
adjoining lake. It’s ‘The Big Chill’ and ‘Peter’s Friends’ with the prospect of
fun and high-anxiety and these are both delivered in spades.
I really
liked ‘Tales from the Lodge’. For lots of reasons. But not least because it
is funny and savvy and very understanding of the genre and the tropes it is consistently
riffing on. There’s a hint of the iconoclast about it too, as it gives the horror
film a bit of a shake and then enjoys the sounds of the bones as they rattle. But,
as with everything good, there’s a bit more than just that going on.
After an initial viewing
to enjoy the gags and the banter and the jumps and the shivers, a second
viewing is rewarded by a creeping realisation that the characters' stories are
all efforts on their parts to confess something about themselves to the others.
Lurking just beneath the banter and the comradely fun, there is an undercurrent
of guilt and betrayal and of truths longing to be told. The film rewards a little
scratching at the surface fun. Could it be that the lodge itself is a metaphor
for the heart (a very present theme within the narrative) and that the tales that
emerge from within that isolated house are really coming from that much deeper
place.
But more of
that anon (or maybe not, maybe that’s quite enough of that).
To some
extent, I was born and raised on Portmanteau horror. Those great Amicus film
were shown in cinema matinees when we just kids and I loved them. I also got
to see Night Gallery on telly when it first came out and the Roddy McDowell segment
from the pilot still lives with me to this day. And yes, I could also do the argument
that Night Gallery was anthology horror rather than portmanteau horror but, hey, time is
short and we all have places we need to be. In addition to the movies there were also the comics. In my neck of the woods, in the early seventies, it was Creepy
and Eerie comics that ruled the roost and both had dubiously-related gatekeepers
who guided us through the even-more-dubious content within.
But, hands down, the granddaddy winner of them all, was the movie ‘Tales from the Crypt’.
I can’t say exactly when I saw it but I read that it came out in 1972 and I saw
it in a matinee so I’d make a conservative estimate that I caught it in 1973 when I was all of
ten years old. For ten-year-old me, it was sheer perfection. Serial killer Santa,
Monkey’s Paw twists and, king of kings, Peter Cushing’s sad old Mr. Grimsdyke
coming back from the dead to wreak poetic justice. I don’t think I even knew
what Valentine’s Day was. All I got was this dude was scrabbling out of his grave
to straighten things out and, man, that was all I needed to know.
The characters
in these stories were often poor enough examples of the human race. People did
nasty things and met their comeuppance. The stories came short and sharp, such
that if you didn’t like one there would always be another along in a little
while. But, for me, the main trope of Portmanteau Horror was always that
everything was simply not going to be all right. There may be fun and shivers
and incredulous laughs along the way but you could always rely on the fact that
everything was going to end shittily.
Tales from
the Lodge uses all of that and shakes it up and plays with it too. It even manages
to maintain the tradition of using high profile and talented actors to feature
in the stories (and in the film entire). It combines the traditional 70’s schlock
with more modern tropes, such as the one where characters in the stories
sometimes lip sync the narrator saying their dialogue. Something that TV’s Drunk
History series did so well.
A word, too, for the music. Warren Bennett has written more tunes for the moving image than
I’ve had hot dinners and here his work is reflective and jumpy by turns and
always with that trademark musicality of his. 'Sweet Billy Pilgrim' also features prominently on the soundtrack with my own favorite ‘Arrived at Upside Down’ sneaking
in, to great effect.
Abi’s
direction and writing are spot on. I’ve always greatly admired how she
effortlessly captures the gentle ribbing of good friends. I have no doubt it
is her unfailing determination to get work done and seen that has
driven this project to its full fruition. I hope and expect it will open
creaking doors to ever escalating levels of horror and fun.
One final
point, and I feel you will have sensed this already in the subtext. The film is
about old friends meeting up, the joy of seeing each other again mixed with the
bitter-sweet ache of missing those who cannot be around to share in the fun.
Life mimics
art. Doesn’t it though? So many of the names associated with the project are names
I have known for so long. People who I have come to care about and, although we
may never meet or shake hands, who have become friends. For me, there is at
least some element of this film echoing that. Reading the credits was, for me,
something of an emotional experience. To see that Warren and Tim sat down together
to write one of the songs. To see Bob thanked right at the top of the list. To
see Jana and Julian in there as they would always be. It’s a great warm thing
that transcends the creation whilst also remaining an integral part of it.
A
joy, really. A joy.
But, all
that aside, I greatly enjoyed ‘Tales from the Lodge’ for the fun, naughty, four-wheel-drive joy ride that it is. I also sensed some subtle current of real-life concerns
running beneath all the Grand Guignol happenings as they swiftly unfolded. We need that.
Well done,
Abi (et al).
Can I watch
it again?
