Miscasting Adam Hann-Byrd in Halloween H20

It's been said that "90% of directing is casting."

Every actor has a specific persona. A certain "look," presence, and degree of charisma. Not every actor is right for every role. An actor's talent and training can sometimes overcome his being miscast, and sometimes even create a more interesting film because of it. But more often not.

Cast the right actor and he'll fit right into the film's story with little work on the director's part. Miscast an actor, and you're squeezing a square peg into a round hole. Not only will the director have a harder time making the film "work," but audiences will have a harder time suspending their disbelief. Poor casting can make audiences roll their eyes.

My eyes roll every time I see Charlie (Adam Hann-Byrd) and Sarah (Jodi Lyn O'Keefe) in Halloween H20. As sex-crazed teenage lovers, they are woefully mismatched.

Sarah is a tall woman with classic, fashion model looks. Charlie is a short geeky guy. The IMDB says that O'Keefe is 5'9" and that Hann-Byrd is 5'10" but I don't believe it. On screen she is often taller than him.

 

  

Additionally, the IMDB states that O'Keefe was born in 1978, Hann-Byrd in 1982. Halloween H20 was released in 1998, but films are often shot the year before release. Assuming their IMDB listed birthdays are accurate, the statuesque O'Keefe was 19 or 20 during the shoot, whereas the diminutive Hann-Byrd was 15 or 16.

(The characters are supposed to be 17, so kudos for not casting thirtysomething actors to play teenagers.)

 

What makes this miscasting so glaring, at least for me, is that Sarah is written as always lusting for Charlie's body. At one point, Charlie pulls Sarah down (he can't actually lift her) and exclaims, "We can have a roving orgy!"

Sarah responds, "I love the way this man thinks!"

That scene is just cringe.

Especially now that I know the taller O'Keefe was an adult, whereas Hann-Byrd was still a minor, when I hear her calling him "this man" ... cringe.

Their scenes together are few and brief (about three), but in all of them, Sarah openly lusts for Charlie (and he for her). That's how the scenes are written. But the casting doesn't support it. The casting induces eye rolls. Suspension of disbelief is strained.

Yes, tall beautiful woman do date and marry short, even unattractive men. But usually those men have money, fame or status. That's not the case in Halloween H20. Charlie isn't even a particularly nice guy. He shoplifts alcohol. He lies. He steals food.

Hann-Byrd might be a great guy and a talented actor. But he's simply miscast in this film.

Night of the Demons (2009) displays similarly incongruent casting. A beautiful woman dates a dorky drug dealer. But that drug dealer, as written, has a more "fleshed out" personality. His character is flawed, yet engaging and sympathetic. It's less of a stretch to think that a beautiful woman might be interested in him.

By contrast, Charlie, as written, is one-dimensional; he is an unscrupulous horn dog. Nothing more. All he has to offer Sarah is his physical body. In which case, the producers should have cast a body that would believably appeal to a one-dimensional campus beauty.

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For more information on working with actors, see Horror Film Aesthetics: Creating the Visual Language of Fear. This blog represents a continuing discussion of my views on horror, picking up from where the book left off.

Acting Errors in The Fear of Darkness

When creating a character on film, it's important for an actor to ground the character in reality. The more real the character feels to an audience, the easier for the audience to empathize with the character, and thus suspend their disbelief regarding the supernatural events the character experiences.

Little things are important. Details enhance, or subvert, the audiences' sense that the character, and events on screen, are real. A viewer might not even know why he didn't like a film, only that it didn't feel right.

In The Fear of Darkness (Australian 2015), Skye (Penelope Mitchell) insists that an extra dimensional entity killed her boyfriend. The police think that Skye killed her boyfriend; that she is insane. They've placed Skye in the care of Sarah (Maeve Dermody), a psychologist who's trying to heal Skye.

The Fear of Darkness is reasonably enjoyable, albeit mediocre and unoriginal. But one thing especially irritated me. Sarah kept removing her eyeglasses. Anyone who's experienced near-sightedness, and thought about it, knows that Sarah's behavior rang false. And once I thought about it, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Every time Sarah removed her glasses reminded me that it was only a movie.

Why does Sarah wear glasses? Presumably because director Christopher Fitchett wants us to think that Sarah is smart. She's a doctor. A scientist. Why, she's so smart, she even wears glasses!

That's an old trope. Put glasses on a young, pretty actress, so we all think she's smart. But okay. So Sarah wears glasses. But she is too young to be far-sighted. So she must be near-sighted. In which case, actress Dermody should behave as would a near-sighted person.

Far-sighted people use reading glasses to magnify materials that are up close, like words in a book or on a computer screen. They remove their glasses to look at a person across a room, because even slightly longer distances appear sharper without reading glasses.

But near-sighted people wear glasses all day. They put them on in the morning, and keep them on until bedtime. To a near-sighted person, everything, near or far, is shaper with glasses.

Yet Sarah treats her glasses as would a (much older) far-sighted person. She's always putting them on and taking them off. Here are two examples, among many:

Sarah wears glasses to read some papers. But then she removes them to look at people across a conference table. This is how a (much older) far-sighted person uses reading glasses. But near-sighted people need glasses for both reading and seeing people across a room.

Now this scene is doubly fake ...

We begin with Sarah reading a computer screen. So now she doesn't need glasses of any kind to see a computer screen? But she needed them in previous scenes.

Then something interesting appears on screen. Sarah puts on her glasses. Why? To get a closer look? Nonsense! If she could see the screen well enough to use a search engine, she does not need glasses for "a closer look."

And then, wearing glasses, Sarah sees something far across the room, apparently in the mirror. Well, that makes sense. A near-sighted person would need glasses to see far across the room.

So Sarah gets up -- and removes her glasses! -- as she approaches the mirror. Why? To get a better look? From far across the room? Again, nonsense. She saw the entity with her glasses. Why take them off now? Being near-sighted, the room would go blurry once Sarah removes her glasses.

I don't know who is responsible for Sarah's constant eyeglass play, Dermody or Fitchett, but Sarah is thoughtlessly mimicking elderly movie scientists, who often remove their (reading glasses) when looking up from some papers. But neither Dermody or Fitchett asked themselves, why do elderly people remove their glasses?

Because they're far-sighted, which the young Sarah cannot be.

But if she can't play with her glasses, that leaves Sarah with only two realistic options. Either lose the glasses -- But then how will we know that Sarah is smart? Or keep her glasses on throughout the film, never removing them -- But then we won't see Dermody's pretty face!

Either option would work. But because horror films are entertainment, and attractive actors are a selling point, The Fear of Darkness reduces eyeglasses to a "smart girl" prop (i.e., an optional accessory) on a pretty face, at the expense of creating a more realistic character.

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For more about the performances of actors in horror, see Horror Film Aesthetics: Creating the Visual Language of Fear. This blog represents a continuing discussion of my views on horror, picking up from where the book left off.

Mysterious Forest: The Witch

Mysterious Forest: The Witch is one of the most original, and weirdest, short horror films I've seen this year. It's noteworthy for its oddness. 

In a modern day retelling of Little Red Riding Hood, an anachronistic witch preys upon a 21st century girl lost in the woods. The girl (Mira Koteva) can't get a GPS fix on her cell phone. Upon seeing the witch's clothing, she asks if the witch is a Harry Potter fan. The perplexed witch (Emanuela Giacalone) knows nothing of cell phones or Harry Potter. (This despite earlier using a hypodermic needle to inject poison into an apple.)

Is this an oversight on filmmaker Jaroslaw Gogolin's part? With Mysterious Forest: The Witch, it's hard to distinguish the bad from the brilliant. The girl and witch pause after every line. It's what bad actors sometimes do. Yet here their constant pauses contribute to the film's feeling of weirdness.

Then there's the girl's slow reaction to the witch garnishing her with herbs. Still studying her cell phone, the girl slowly notices the witch is sprinkling herbs upon her red coat. Most people would have instantly snapped at the witch. Maybe even smacked her. The girl only responds with a "What is this?" and a testy "I don't like this. I don't like any vegetables."

Also weird is the witch's heavy white pancake makeup, with black Goth lipstick and eyeliner. It's too much. She looks like a freak, to us and to the girl, but that's likely intentional. Then there's the witch's strange accent and exaggerated lip smacking. In another context it would be scenery chewing. Here it all somehow works. 




 
Amid this strangeness, there is also beauty. Colors are deeply saturated. The forest is very lush and green. The girl's coat very red. Appropriate hues for the film's storybook conceit. The ominous music injects menace into the story, such that the witch's weirdness appears creepy rather than comedic. Despite the witch's difficulties navigating our modern world, we fear for the girl. Mysterious Forest: The Witch depicts witches not as supernatural monsters, nor as wise women healers, but as child predators.

Mysterious Forest: The Witch is a vignette from an intended Mysterious Forest feature. I found two other Mysterious Forest vignettes on YouTube (different actors, different stories) and they don't rise to the level of The Witch, lacking its originality, production values, and overall weirdness. It seems that Gogolin is learning and improving his craft as he proceeds with filming. It will be interesting to see the final feature.

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For more information about weird or unusual horror films, see Horror Film Aesthetics: Creating the Visual Language of Fear. This blog represents a continuing discussion of my views on horror, picking up from where the book left off.

In Search of Lovecraft Suffers from Poorly Motivated Characters

Poorly motivated characters are a common problem. These characters' actions are inconsistent with their previous behavior. Writers treat these characters as puppets, having them say or do things merely to advance the story, without regard as to whether that character, as established by his other actions or statements, would do that

Slasher film victims are a classic example. It often makes no sense for them to wander about the woods at night after everyone has strangely disappeared. Yet they do so anyway, merely because the writer wants to get that character from point A to point B.

In Search of Lovecraft (2008) provides another example. In this film, two TV journalists, Rebecca and Mike (Renee Sweet and Tytus Bergstrom), investigate a Lovecraftian cult. The film explodes with poor directing, acting, and writing, but I'll limit myself to a few scenes.

Who is this Mike character? Writer/director David J. Hohl establishes that Mike is an Army veteran who has seen combat. Mike carries a gun. He's strong. He's brooding. He's tough.

 

Dr. D'Souza (Saqib Mausoof) tips off Mike and Rebecca that information on the cult might be obtained at a certain spot in the woods, late at night. Mike and Rebecca drive there and park. Their intern, Amber (Denise Amrikhas), sits in the back seat. (above)

We hear a noise. The car shakes. A tentacle descends on the windshield. The creature breaks the rear window. The panicked Amber exits the car. The creature pulls her up and out of sight. Rebecca opens the car door, about to exit and rescue Amber.

Holding back Rebecca, Mike says, "You can't go outside."

"But we have to find Amber," Rebecca protests.

Remaining safe in the car, Mike shines his flashlight out the window.

"Do you see her?" asks Rebecca.

"Too late," says Mike. "Go! Go now! Go now!"

What are ex-soldier Mike's motivations? Is he really a coward? Or perhaps he only wanted to "go now" because he was protective of Rebecca, the woman he really cares about?

Let's see what Mike does next. 

The next day, Mike and Rebecca set up a meeting with Dr. D'Souza at a park in San Francisco. Upon spotting D'Souza, Mike rushes up and grabs him, as though about to beat up D'Souza.

"Amber's gone!" Mike shouts. "Will you tell us what's going on!"

"Do you have any idea what happened to us last night?" asks Rebecca.

"What the fuck attacked us?" asks Mike.

"I warned you about the cult," D'Souza replies.

Why is Mike attacking D'Souza? Up till now they trusted him. Mike never showed any concern for Amber in any previous scene. And if Mike did care about Amber, why didn't he try to find and help her last night? Instead of urging Rebecca to drive off now?

Mike is acting tough simply to act tough. Acting tough not from any motivation, but because writer Hohl wants Mike to act tough. Maybe Hohl thinks that having Mike bully D'Souza will inject drama into the scene.

And then Mike's character grows less consistent.

 

 

While Mike and D'Souza are bickering, a disheveled bum approaches Rebecca. He grabs her arm and presses a bloody handkerchief against it.

"Ow, you're hurting me! You're hurting me!" screams Rebecca.

Rebecca, Mike's love interest, is being attacked. Rebecca screams that she's being "hurt." How does Mike react?

Upon hearing Rebecca's screams, Mike slowly turns to see what's troubling her. And then does ... nothing. Like a block of wood, Mike watches the bum leave, having given the handkerchief -- containing Amber's ear -- to Rebecca.

So what is Mike's character? Tough? Brave? A hothead?

Mike is tough, brave, and hotheaded enough to bully D'Souza, who's threatening no one. But Mike doesn't attack the bum, who was "hurting" Rebecca. Even with Rebecca screaming right beside him, Mike only slowly takes notice of her.

Is Mike a coward? Afraid of the bum? Yet D'Souza is taller and younger than the bum. Mike might run from a tentacled monster, but if he can fight D'Souza, he can take the bum. So if Mike's not afraid of the bum, why didn't he defend Rebecca?

Is Mike a hothead? Hotheaded enough to attack D'Souza for an event that occurred last night. But not so hotheaded as to attack a bum who right now was "hurting" the woman he truly cares for.

Mike's instances of toughness, bravery, and hotheadedness are inconsistent. They come and go without rhyme or reason. Without any discernible motivation.

Mike does what he does because writer Hohl uses Mike -- and the other characters -- as empty-headed puppets, their sole purpose to move things along from scene to scene. Mike runs from the monster because Hohl is finished with that scene. Mike shouts at D'Souza because Hohl thinks it's dramatic. Mike ignores the bum because Hohl wants the bum to leave. 

Mike acts according to Hohl's motivations because Hohl hasn't provided Mike with any of his own motivations.

Inconsistent, poorly motivated characters are less "real." Thus, audiences are less likely to sympathize and empathize with them. Which weakens the horror in a horror film.

To better understand why, read my post about the importance of characters in horror. Also read about the poorly motivated characters in Dark Floors.

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For more practical tips for low-budget horror filmmakers, see Horror Film Aesthetics: Creating the Visual Language of Fear. This blog represents a continuing discussion of my views on horror, picking up from where the book left off.

A Powerful Silhouette in Insidious: Chapter 2

Silhouettes are an effective -- and inexpensive -- way to enhance a scene's mood or atmosphere, infusing the scene with power, poignancy, beauty, romance, mystery, unease, or terror. This simple lighting technique can delineate a character or support a theme. Horror films have used silhouettes in many ways, as have other film genres and styles. Noir is especially famous for its heavy use of silhouettes.

Insidious: Chapter 2 makes admirable use of silhouettes.

Josh (Patrick Wilson) is a father possessed by a ghost. No one in his family knows this yet. The scene opens with Josh playing outside with his son. The smiling actors, joyful playing, and sunny lighting all suggest happy normalcy.

Josh's wife, Renai (Rose Byrne) gazes at her husband and son, happy and secure in what she sees.

Renai returns to her other son, still sitting at the breakfast table. The son relates an ominous story about Josh to Renai. Much of it is told in flashback. The son's story suggests there is something wrong with Josh. He might not be as he appears.

The son's story instills in Renai -- and in us -- a fear of Josh. This loving father of only a moment ago now seems to be a threat. Whereupon, Josh calls to them. They turn toward him and we cut to...

Josh, standing in the doorway -- in silhouette. He speaks in friendly tones. Yet the silhouette enhances the fear instilled in us by the son's story.

We cut to Renai and son, looking at Josh. Then again to Josh, the frame tightening from the previous long shot to a medium close-up. This has the emotional effect of strengthening Josh's presence, so that he feels that much more threatening.

This silhouette's emotional impact derives largely from the film's dramatic context. It is the son's ominous account to Renai, of seeing Josh behaving strangely, that infuses Josh's silhouette with menace. In another dramatic context, in another film's story, the silhouette might have an entirely difference impact, or no impact at all.

You might also want to read my previous post about Insidious: Chapter 2's use of sexual deviancy. 

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For more information on lighting and framing, see Horror Film Aesthetics: Creating the Visual Language of Fear. This blog represents a continuing discussion of my views on horror, picking up from where the book left off.

Death Doll: Another Example of Horror via a Facial Shift

I've written previously about how horror can be achieved through a change in an actor's facial expression. The fear comes from the audience's realization that a character they've come to know and trust, and often sympathize with, is not who they believe to be. The character is actually evil, or crazy, or possessed, or not even human.

Death Doll (1989) provides another example of this technique. Trish (Andrea Walters), a young widow, believes herself to the stalked by someone or something. She turns to her brother-in-law, Dillon (William Dance), for help.

Shot on an obviously low budget, Death Doll is impressive in that it leads the audience down one path (suggesting a threat from a sinister fortune-telling machine), before revealing that the threat originates from elsewhere.

Spoiler Alert...

Near the film's end, we discover that Dillon is not the loving brother-in-law that Trish (and we) have come to trust. Rather, he's a schizophrenic murderer. Much like Norman Bates, Dillon has a split personality. Norman occasionally imagines himself to be his mother. Dillon imagines himself to be his doll.

Actor William Dance reveals Dillon's schizophrenia through shifts in his facial facial expression and voice. When speaking as Dillon, Dance's face is relaxed. His voice is mellow. He looks toward Trish.

When speaking as the doll, Dance's face tightens. His voice rises in pitch. His eyes not only widen, but they look into the camera. This is especially unsettling, as it breaks the "fourth wall" such that Dillon now appears to be staring straight into the audience's eyes.

Observe these images from Death Doll:

 

 

 

Director William Mims further enhances the scene by dressing Dance in black, and setting him against a black backdrop. Thus Dillon's head appears to be disembodied, floating in darkness. It adds to the scene's menace, creepiness, and poignancy. Poignancy, because the crazed Dillon is dying before our eyes while he delivers a sad speech about his tragic childhood. (I did warn you with a Spoiler Alert.)

 

Also be sure to read my other article on how horror can be achieved through shifts in an actor's facial expression.

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For more on horror and acting, see Horror Film Aesthetics: Creating the Visual Language of Fear. This blog represents a continuing discussion of my views on horror, picking up from where the book left off.

Poor Scriptwriting in Deadly Messages

Inept writing, a problem in all film genres, often manifests in lame dialog and poorly motivated characters who behave illogically.

The weaker a script, the harder for an audience to suspend disbelief -- which is especially critical for fantastical genres such as horror. If you introduce an unnatural element into a horror story (e.g., a Ouija board or a ghost), logical writing helps to ground the rest of the story in reality. A ghost anchored among solid characters will be more believable -- and thus, more frightening -- than a ghost adrift among silly caricatures.

I've discussed poorly motivated characters in Dark Floors. Poor character motivation results when writers treat their characters as puppets. Writers have the characters say and do whatever pushes the story forward, never mind if a character in such a situation would do that. 

Clever writers create situations that motivate characters toward the writer's goal. Inept writers push characters toward a goal despite a contrary situation.

In Deadly Messages (1985, aka Ouija), Cindy contacts a ghost through a Ouija board. Soon thereafter, Laura (Kathleen Beller) sees a mysterious man murder Cindy. Laura phones the police. When they arrive, they see no body and immediately dismiss Laura as a nut. They even threaten to prosecute her the next time she calls in a false alarm.

This is nonsensical, bad writing. Laura gave the victim's identity to the police. A responsible cop would at first investigate the alleged victim, Cindy -- Does she exist? Is she missing? -- before accusing Laura of fabricating a false report.

Why the bad writing? Most likely the writer wanted to heighten Laura's tense situation and vulnerability. How much worse for Laura, after seeing Cindy murdered, if the police don't believe her. If they instead accuse her of a crime. Who will protect her if the killer returns? 

Additionally, the writer likely thought the scene would be more dramatic if the cops don't believe Laura. An opportunity for the actors to shout and argue and emote dramatically.

Films are full of such phony, manufactured "drama." The writer should have kept the characters -- and their current situation -- in mind while writing the scene. Actors call this being in the moment. Reacting to surrounding people and events in a logical fashion, rather than behaving in a manner disconnected from reality.

More bad scripting arises in Deadly Messages when Laura's doctor reveals Laura's brain diagnosis to Laura's boyfriend, Michael (Michael Brandon), and lets Michael break the news to Laura -- if he wishes. The doctor even confides his suspicion to Michael that, based on the test results, he thinks Laura has had electroshock therapy in the past, and has kept this hidden from Michael.

Again, this is nonsense. A professional physician is obligated to maintain patient confidentiality. Laura and Michael aren't even married. Yet the writer has the doctor blabbing Laura's medical secrets to her boyfriend. Why?

Because it's more dramatic. Rather than keep the characters' current situation in mind -- being in the moment -- the writer likely thought it more dramatic for Michael to learn about Laura's secret first, and then have him surprise her with the news.

The writer had also established that the doctor was Michael's friend, and wanted to protect Michael from the possibly mad Laura. But this is no excuse for the doctor betraying his patient's confidence. At the very least, the doctor should have raised the issue of patient confidentiality, and offered a plausible excuse for breaking the confidentiality. It would have made the whole scene, including his betrayal, more believable.

Overall, Deadly Messages is a reasonably entertaining woman-in-peril, suspense mystery (with some supernatural elements). But, as is typical of TV movies, logic suffers for the sake of phony drama, hindering suspension ofdisbelief. 

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For more information, see Horror Film Aesthetics: Creating the Visual Language of Fear. This blog represents a continuing discussion of my views on horror, picking up from where the book left off.

The First Step: Obscuring Low-Budget Makeup Effects

Sometimes less is more. A threat might be more frightening if unseen and left to our imagination. For instance, the entity in The Haunting, slowing pressing in the heavy wooden door as the terrified characters watch from its other side. We never did learn what lurked behind that door.

But sometimes "less is more" is just a filmmaker's excuse to show less (fewer sets, locations, actors, or special effects) because he could not afford to show more. The film needed to show more (nothing was aesthetically gained by its showing less), but more was not in the budget.

And sometimes these two motivations for showing less -- aesthetic and financial -- conjoin in a mutually supportive manner.

In The First Step, a cellar dweller creeps up from a basement, up three flights of stairs, to kill a little girl. This is a short, low-budget ($500) film. As such, the cellar dweller's makeup effect (by Delia De Cock) is admirably original and effective, but upon close examination, it looks like makeup.

This means that, should audiences get an opportunity to closely examine the makeup, it will be that much harder for them to suspend their disbelief and enjoy the horror.

The First Step solves this problem by obscuring the cellar dweller with dim lighting (such that the creature is often seen in silhouettes) ...

... and a soft focus (thus blurring the edges of the makeup application, so that the creature's twisted features appear natural).  

Framing also helps obscure the monster, often showing us only its body parts (e.g., a foot, a clawed hand, etc.).

I don't know if this was the filmmakers' (Daniel Brown and Kate McMeans) intent behind their lighting, photography, and framing, but that's the aesthetic effect. If you were to pause the film and scrutinize the creature, then its feature will more clearly be seen as artificial makeup, rather than actual monster skin. But when seen only briefly in quick cuts, and under dim lighting, and through a slight blur, then the creature's artificiality is less obvious.

By obscuring the cellar dweller, more is left to the viewer's imagination. This imagination is further stimulated by the monster's creepy voice and disjointed body movements, (actress Jon Anna Van Thuyne), both of which suggest all manner of horrors.

To recap:

The First Step's low-budget yields some fairly nice monster makeup effects, but these effects are obviously artificial should viewers closely examine them. To prevent such close examination of the makeup, the filmmaker employs...

* Dim lighting (creating silhouettes),

* Soft focus (blurring the image),

* Tight framing (showing only parts of the monster),

* Quick cuts (further preventing close examination of the creature).

This leaves the creature's nature up to our dark imaginings, which are further stimulated by ...

* Sound (a creepy voice for the monster),

* Acting (disjointed body movements by the actor).

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For more information about lighting, photography, framing, editing, sound, and acting in horror films -- see Horror Film Aesthetics: Creating the Visual Language of Fear. This blog represents a continuing discussion of my views on horror, picking up from where the book left off.

Acting in Clockwatchers: Artificial Facial Expressions vs. Authentic Emotions

There is no such thing as horror acting. There are horror actors (e.g., Bela Lugosi, Peter Cushing, Jamie Lee Curtis), but only in the sense that the actor becomes known for working in many horror films. But there is no horror acting style. Yes, scream queens will scream, but their screaming is more often a form of performing rather than acting.

Performing is a broad term that encompasses (among other pursuits) dancing, singing, poetry readings, standup comedy, acting, and screaming in a Halloween haunted house attraction.

True acting, as taught by teachers of The Method, involves creating a character with an authentic, emotional inner life. Real emotions that actors project through their instruments that's what Method teachers call an actor's entire being (including his face, body, thoughts, and emotions).

Method actors emote through their instruments.

Most of the past decade's hundreds of micro-budget, indie horror films fail in one or more areas. Flat lighting, crude sound, and poorly motivated characters  are prevalent. But the most common defect among micro-budgeted indie horror films is the quality of the acting.

Some beginner actors mistakenly think that acting is largely about creating facial expressions. (Someone even self-published a book about it.) But if the actor does not project an inner emotional life, then the facial expression will appear false. External and artificial, rather than internal and authentic.

You've likely fooled around with friends, when one of you pretended to be sad, angry, or scared, maybe by mugging a facial expression. Surely everyone could see that the person was merely playacting, rather than actually being sad, angry, or scared.

Conversely, there were likely times when you sensed that your friend was sad, angry, or scared, even if they tried to hide such emotions behind a happy face. Their true emotions were breaking through the surface -- a far more powerful and convincing thing to see than a fake expression.

Great acting is not about artificial facial expressions, but about generating and projecting real emotions.

A scene in Clockwatchers (1997) demonstrates an acting fallacy committed by poor actors (and poor directors). Lisa Kudrow plays an office temp (Paula) with dreams of becoming an actress. While riding home a bus, Paula shows a co-worker all the great faces she's learned at acting class. This scene is meant to satirize poor Paula, who (unlike Kudrow) is a terrible actress. Yet this scene also illustrates one of the hallmarks of bad acting.

 

 

While Paula's "acting" is as good as that in many low-budget horror films, it falls short of great acting. (Her happy face appears the most authentic. This is likely because Paula herself is in an upbeat mood as she showcases her faces to her co-worker, so her happy face has authentic emotions behind it.)

However, to really "get" the above scene, one must view the actual film. Film students should watch Clockwatchers in any event, as it is one of the best indie films of the 1990s. A satire of office cubicle workers, it has authentic acting and dialog, and is subtler, more powerful, more poignant, and more true-to-life than the similarly themed Office Space.

Students of acting and directing should also compare Betty's (Naomi Watts) two performances of the same scene in Mulholland Drive. Betty, like Paula, is an aspiring actress. Betty first performs the scene at home, as she practices for her audition. Her performance is pretty poor. Betty then performs the scene a second time at the audition. This time her performance is so extraordinary.

This instructive scene from Mulholland Drive not only demonstrates great acting as opposed to poor acting, but it also shows that the same scene, when played with different emotions, yields startlingly different results. 

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For more information about acting in horror films -- see Horror Film Aesthetics: Creating the Visual Language of Fear. This blog represents a continuing discussion of my views on horror, picking up from where the book left off.

Miscast Amazon Warrior Women in The Other Side

It's been said that 90% of directing is casting, because once an actor is cast, the director is stuck with that actor's physical and creative range -- limited to that actor's age, height, weight, facial features, voice, skills, and training.

Every actor has a limited range, some greater than others. No one actor is right for every part, though actors may insist otherwise. The Other Side provides an example of miscasting. In this case, the miscasting of a popular archetype -- that of the kick-ass, Amazonian warrior woman.

While the Amazon archetype extends back to antiquity, modern examples include Diana Rigg's Emma Peel in The Avengers, Angelina Jolie's Lara Croft, Carrie-Ann Moss's Trinity in The Matrix series, and Mila Jovovich's Alice in the Resident Evil series.

The Amazon archetype has long appeared in low-budget genre films. Alas, low-budget Amazons are often less impressive than their Hollywood renditions.

The Other Side is more of a theological thriller than a horror film. Like Resident Evil, The Other Side is heavily informed by action genre aesthetics. In the film, a young man escapes from Hell, along with other inmates. Satan dispatches "Reapers" to bring them back. The Reapers are kick-ass assassins. Their clothes and gymnastic gunplay borrow stylistically from The Matrix.

Male Reapers wear long trench coats and fedoras. They use only guns. But female Reapers are clad in high heels and black leather. They use guns, swords, crossbows, and martial arts knives. No logical reason is given for this sartorial gender disparity. I suppose that director Gregg Bishop simply selected whatever fashions he thought looked cool.

The female Reapers are played by Lori Beth Sikes and (very briefly) Amy Lucas. The problem with their casting is that these women appear to be lightweight, petite, and short. The role of a female Reaper can be better played by a truly Amazonian actress -- tall, strong, ideally even a bodybuilder.

Why were Sikes and Lucas cast? It's not as if acting ability was an issue. The Reapers don't have any lines. All Sikes does is keep her face in a deadpan scowl. (Much like Arnold Schwarzenegger in The Terminator. -- I guess Bishop thought a fixed scowl made Sikes's character look tough).

These petite Reapers in leather, flailing swords, look silly, thus risking audience disbelief. If the part calls for an Amazon -- cast an Amazon. Someone like the 5'10" Sandahl Bergman with her lean and muscled dancer's body. Or the 5'11" Lana Clarkson.

No, it doesn't matter that the Reapers are supernatural and thus don't need physical strength. The Other Side portrays them as warriors, in which case they should appear as warriors.

Every film requires a certain amount of suspension of disbelief. The more entertaining a film is, the more willing audiences are to suspend disbelief. And The Other Side is fairly entertaining. Its stunts and special effects are highly impressive for its claimed $15,000 budget. So I suspect that most viewers will easily suspend their disbelief, and accept the petite actresses as Amazonian warriors.

But why should audiences be made to exert that extra effort, when the filmmaker could just as easily have cast more appropriately? The further viewers must stretch their disbelief (already an issue with fantastique films), the sooner they'll give up, and relegate the film to Mystery Science Theatre 3000 fodder.

 

Such miscasting of warriors is not limited to women. Note the belly on the above "elite" special forces solider in Santa Claus vs. the Zombies. (And see my separate article on the poor hairstyling in this film.)

 

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For more about mise-en-scène as it relates to actors, see Horror Film Aesthetics: Creating the Visual Language of Fear. This blog represents a continuing discussion of my views on horror, picking up from where the book left off.