THE LIVING AND THE DEAD

Despite the snobbist and uninformed opinion of some of the 'higher' brow critics entrenched out there in the realm of the 'intelligentsia,' The Living and the Dead is certainly a horror film. The very elegance of progression, careful story structure, and human emotion that the elitist mainstream critic celebrates in the film are those same elements that make them proclaim the movie is 'only horror in the most literal sense.' This is a disservice to both the film and the horror genre, for it obviously a charged statement, suggesting that horror cinema isn't concerned with human emotion or character, and far too busy playing with childish fantasies to craft superior story patterns. Thankfully, any fan or historian worth their salt sees this rhetoric for the self satisfied tripe that it is, and can recognize in The Living and the Dead not only a mesmerizing study of psychological deviancy but, in addition, a wonderfully realized horror film precisely because it stares unflinchingly and with poetic harshness at our inhuman condition. This is a very mature and horrific piece of storytelling.

The Living and the Dead is a horror film that understands not only how to disturb but, more importantly, how to terrify and inspire panic in the soul. The depth of social criticism and layers of character it explores makes it more than entertainment; the film is -- do I dare say it? -- art. Art crafted to question our pre conceived notions of reality and right or wrong. Art that undermines and challenges our guiding expectations. The filmmakers refuse to blink from the worst that can happen, therefore we can't. The plot merges the grotesque/absurd with the very realistic in a manner both chilling and plausible, shoving you into Wonderland without the benefit of letting you think it's a dream. Mental illness, abuse, the nature of loss, and issues of death/dying and loyalty are all stirred into a stew of skewered perception. A deliciously gothic household envelopes the battered lives of three people: Donald Brocklebank (a poverty ruined ex-Lord), a bedridden wife dying of cancer, and James, a schizophrenic 'man child.' The way each of these people see themselves as opposed to the reality of their actions and personalities makes for fascinating conflict. Dysfunction is studied with honesty, and much like the grueling horror of a dying woman left alone with an insane if well meaning son, allowed to run its course naturally. When Donald leaves Nancy alone with their mentally-challenged son James, a game of cat and mouse between James and the family nurse spills into tragedy.

A modern tragedy of pain and violence merging suspense with emotionally intensive characterization, this film tempts readers into the tragic underbelly of human depravity with a lean, straight-forward style and keen understanding of human motivation. Viewers are brought to unsuspected extremities by not only the terrifying story but by its stealthy, 'slow burn' manner of telling. The result is a modern fable of desperate emotion whose vulnerability reveals to us nothing less than . . . ourselves. Far more terrifying on a surface level than a monster bathed in the protective shadows of fantasy, the monster displayed here wears our face and shares our desires and confusion, making it dreadful in a manner largely impossible to duplicate by a supernatural creation. The very honesty of this depiction of the conflict between reality and fantasy, status quo morality and personal desire is itself a character in the story, moving us with merciless precision from one point of anxiety and shock to the next. The true beauty of both the script and the carefully realized direction is that even these shocks -- of which there are many -- are rooted deeply in character, never less than organic in their progression. We get the feeling that this not only could happen, but is! The Living and the Dead peels back the polite surface exterior of societal convention -- morality, love, justice -- and reveals the dark corners where we hide our deepest fears.

These events spiral out of control with elegance and simplicity, allowing us to watch with growing empathy and apprehension an ending we sense will be anything but happy. The Living and the Dead wants to hurt us, and it does so. Not with cheap gore effects or gratuitous violence, not with mindless coincidences or forced sexual taboos, but with the natural tragedy and drama that stems from the rhythms of the story and people we're made to feel both sympathy and terror for. Most effective is writer/director Simon Rumley's suggestion that no one is to blame for this tragedy. The film is so very downbeat that it may not appeal to 'horror fans' who want nothing more than cheap scares ands laughable protagonists. This, to my way of thinking, is a very fine thing, showing that terror as both entertainment and an art form can (and should) explore the unsafe, the unsound -- those themes and characters that make us squirm with pity and sadness as well as with fright. The characters, from the self blinded father and dying mother to the psychologically damaged James, are all perfectly realized, and each, in the final analysis, is a victim, making it even more challenging. There is no one human monster here, no one person to blame for the horrors that unfold in this spiraling house,. There is only chance, and life, and bad decisions; there is mental illness, chaotic perception, and ruined dreams. There is, finally, only life itself, which is the raw and terrible 'stuff' that this film captures with tenderness and terror.

The Living and the Dead is presented with respect and care, given a anamorphic widescreen release in 1.78:1. Picture quality is clean and clear with no notable grain or blemishes, and colors are bright and lifelike. Audio is featured in 5.1 Dolby Digital, and is clean and proficient, without background hissing or distortion.

Extras are standard if enjoyable, featuring a Making of Featurette, some Deleted Scenes that are interesting without adding anything crucial to the story, and a Stills Gallery. Laughter, a short film by Simon Rumley, is also included, which while effective and displaying technical and directorial prowess, doesn't warn at all of the pathos displayed in this feature effort.

Review by William Simmons