Finding catharsis in frightening ass films
If it weren’t for events like the Frightening Ass Film Festival, Chattanooga might be hard to take. As I write this, over 10,000 people are flooding into the McKenzie Arena to take part in the president’s xenophobic/hate-the-media/lie-about-everything/why-is-he-doing-this-again rally tour, making sure to shout “Jesus loves you” at protesters on their way inside.
It’s a divisive spectacle, to be sure. It also makes it hard to focus on the task at hand.
Writing an article about movies seems trite at juncture in our country’s history—I should be lending my voice to the protest rather than shouting into the void. But then, at the same, it’s important to celebrate the good.
The Chattanooga Film Festival and the Frightening Ass Film Festival are wonderful events for those of us that need to get away from everything and watch something weird and wonderful. While I wasn’t able to attend last week’s events, one of the benefits of writing for The Pulse is that I can sometimes bring the FAFF to my living room.
As such, I got a chance to screen two of the films shown at the festival: a charming little short called Heartless and a documentary on everyone’s favorite childhood book collection: “Scary Stories to tell in the Dark.”
Directed by Kevin Sluder, Heartless is an award winning short film loosely based on the Edgar Allen Poe short story “The Tell-Tale Heart.” In it, a young woman takes an upcoming presentation for work entirely too seriously and makes a few mistakes along the way. Who could blame her, though, when her office is made-up of mean girls and bro-culture?
The film does many things well, from effects to pacing to writing. If I had a criticism, it would be that the escalation is a little abrupt. “The Tell Tale Heart” has a slow burn sort of storytelling, while Heartless is more of a flamethrower.
But then, who can complain when the heroine of the film appears to be as talented a killer with mundane objects as Marvel’s Bullseye? Overall, the film was no doubt an effective lead-in to the madness of the FAFF.
Of the films at the festival, however, Scary Stories was the film that made me most excited. Like many elementary students around the country, the “Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark” series is one of my most vivid memories. Specifically, I remember the story of Harold, the scarecrow doll that comes to life after years of abuse, and “The Red Spot,” which solidified my fear of spiders and acne.
The documentary, directed by Cody Meirick, is a bit of an amalgamation, combining an examination of the stories themselves and the impact they had on a generation of readers with background on the author and illustrator of the book, Alvin Schwartz and Stephen Gammell, respectively.
Interviews with Schwartz’s children provide some insight into their father as a working author with a reporter’s instinct—”Scary Stories” was mostly a collection of folklore from around the world.
Unfortunately, Schwartz died just as the collection was gaining popularity among kids (and gaining notoriety for the gruesome nature of the stories). Gammell, it seems, is just as elusive, in that he doesn’t grant interviews about his work. What’s left are remembrances of the stories, of their effect, of the school boards that tried to ban them, and the students who loved them intensely.
Over and over again, adults who remember these books report how they helped them learn to love reading, gave them a sense of accomplishment, and challenged their imaginations.
As a teacher, I can report that the stories are wonderful to use as a jumping off point for students in writing their own scary stories.
The documentary is a nice testament to the importance of these books, even if it is light at times on background information.
“Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark” gave young children an outlet for their darker selves, for their questions, and their fears. That’s something that frightening ass films do as well.
It gives us a chance to confront our own fears in the safety of a theater, surrounded by others doing the same thing. We can laugh at them, jump at them, scream at them, but they won’t get us while we’re there.
At some point though, we have to leave the theater and face what’s outside. And sometimes what’s outside is 10,000 smiling people in red hats. Maybe we can stay inside a little longer.