FAIR-HAIRED CHILD

One of television's most satisfying anthology series of recent times, Masters of Horror brought intelligence and craftsmanship back to a genre languishing emotionally. Confronting taboos with an honesty and verve often lacking in the small screen, the series took advantage of Showtime's fairly lenient guidelines to evoke a surprising amount of physical carnage. More importantly, a number of the episodes stretched the emotional poignancy of the genre, focusing as much on subtext and character as viscera. Crossing taboos of expectation and taste, Fair-Haired Child combines shocking violence with marvellous atmosphere and sympathetic performances. The result is a fable of love and sin that reveals the complexity of the human heart by inviting us to question the motivations of love and the boundaries of sacrifice. Blurring the lines between good and evil, this extremely dark fairy tale is as emotionally challenging as it is chilling. Interweaving painful realities with the supernatural in a seamless blend of terror and awe, director William Malone uses a thematic mirror of fantasy to reflect the depths of suffering and loss. One of the season's most terrifying surprises, Anchor Bay presents this moralistic nightmare with customary technical polish.

Fair-Haired Child honors the mechanics and structural patterns of traditional storytelling, paying more than simple lip service to narrative devices that make for exciting moments of terror as well as introspective characterization. The plot, while following a simplistic, time-honored (some might even say cliché) pattern of bereaved parents trying to rescue their child from the grave (which was given its most effective literary handling in W. W. Jacobs' "The Monkey's Paw), uses its archetypal imagery and intimate resonance to question far-ranging issues of human nature. After a tragedy befalls two brilliant if eccentric musicians, they retreat to the wife's isolated private ancestral estate where they conduct unholy experiments with kidnapped children that they toss in the cellar with the transforming shell of their deceased son. Anton and Judith Ruric (William Samples and Lori Petty), unable to accept the death of their son, make a demonic pact to resurrect their boy . . .at a price. They must sacrifice twelve other children for him to regain his soul. When Tara (Lindsey Pulsipher) is kidnapped and finds herself trapped in the couple's dark basement, she finds herself befriending a mysterious, guilt-plagued mutant boy-thing who struggles against the compulsion to kill her. As a strange manner of love develops between them, the grave exerts its own dark form of justice.

This is horror as genre and emotion, each used as a mirror of our cultural fear of change, and our very intimate terror of losing our loved ones. Directed with technical precision and compassion by Malone, the story harkens back to the folk tales of old, suggesting a moral without beating its audience over the head with it. While clearly anchored in the stylistic and thematic conventions of the genre, complete with spooky surroundings, murder, and the lurking supernatural, and thereby affirming its right to be considered as a 'horror' film, the picture transcends the genre even while symbolizing its conventions. Horror as emotion, rooted to the loss and pain of everyday life, is established with as much poignancy as the more expected (if no less satisfying) moments of surreal nightmare when the dead return to life. The monsters in Fair-Haired Child include the ravaging influence of love, and parents whose inability to let go of their child ends in monstrous tragedy. A fine line is established between victim and victimizer that tantalizes and disturbs. The parents of a dead child, seeking congress with the demonic, and willing to sacrifice innocent lives to cheat time of its prize, are certainly as monstrous as the child that is forced to kill through no will of his own. Likewise, emotions of love and hate, fear and vengeance, are each played against the other. The story questions the nature and dependability of perception, no small feat for a creature feature. Malone exhibits an intuitive ability to evoke raw emotion -- and a psychological connection to his characters -- that wasn't evident in either in Fear.Com or House on Haunted Hill. While the ending isn't as unexpected as the filmmaker's may have hoped, the emotional resonance of harsh justice lends the entire affair a morally pleasing (if chilling) conclusion to what can best be described a believably modern tragedy of the human heart's inmost fears, sins, and desires. Love is expressed throughout as our most frightening and, ultimately, most redeemable commodity. Malone's handling of a story from Matt Greenberg brings the message home with subversive wit and simple elegance.

Anchor Bay presents Fair-Haired Child in gorgeous anamorphic widescreen (1.77:1). The print is clean and crisp, free from grain or other visual distortions. Audio weighs in at Dolby Digital 5.1 and Dolby Surround Sound, both of which evenly distribute their careful blend of sound, dialogue, and FX.

As with all other MOH discs, extra features for Fair-Haired Child are plentiful and informative if a bit repetitive. Providing a context with which to better appreciate the filming process, these supplements also invite a better appreciation of the story's plot, themes, and direction. "The Face of Fear: An Interview with William Malone" examines the director's career thus far, focusing primarily on his approach towards this episode, his goals, and how closely he reached them. A sense of his personal devotion to the story, and an overview of his working procedure, is further documented by "Working With a Master," wherein we see the director's methodology and personality through other's eyes. If these segments occasionally appear as little more than fluff, smacking of self-promotion, than just as much of the material is worth a careful listen. Several important aspects of the production are covered. Less substantial, and less devoted to the film, are the three pieces featuring the cast. "On Set Interviews" with Jesse Haddock, Lindsay Pulshipher, and Lori Petty are fun if basic. As expected, much time is spent discussing their interpretation of the story and the challenges of fitting into their roles. "Behind the Scenes: The Making of Fair-Haired Child" is easily the less rewarding piece, covering moments of the shoot. "Scenes from William Malone's First Short Film" are self explanatory. Audio Commentary with Malone and writer Greenberg is the most informative piece here, covering everything from the film's inspiration to the filming process. This track includes several intimate exchanges, and is an audio history of the movie and its creators that veers easily between intimate recollections and technical examinations.

Review by William P. Simmons