By: Paul Farrell

When Evil Lurks

A possessed one. A “rotten.” That’s what lies bulbous and decaying on a cot in a shack adjacent to brothers Pedro and Jimmy’s property. God is dead. The churches are gone. And the specialist sent to clean up the demonic mess has been reduced to nothing but a hunk of sinewy meat. Unless Pedro and Jimmy act fast, their small corner of the world will soon be infected by insurmountable evil and everything they love will be far worse than dead.

Directed by Demián Rugna, When Evil Lurks is a brutal, cruel, and grotesque expedition into a world where demons infect with blatant disregard and sanctioned cleaners sanitize with the proper tools and ancient methodologies. Similar to this year’s Falling Stars, the film’s characters inhabit a world where knowledge of its supernatural goings on is commonplace. It’s a society where rules are handed down generation to generation, helping to guide those who encounter a “rotten” meet a less sticky end.

As was the case with Rugna’s Terrified, When Evil Lurks is populated with impressive creature effects and gruesomely gnarly scares. The film deals in the contaminating effects of evil’s proximity, regardless of how brief or multi-layered, tracing a hideous pandemic of damnation as it sweeps through a small town like a tornado of carnage. The more people Pedro and Jimmy attempt to save — Pedro’s estranged family and the brothers’ mother, for example — the more people they inadvertently introduce to the contagions of demonic energy. Their journey is shadowed by an ever-encroaching cloud of inexorable calamity, annihilation in the form of good intentions, paving Hell’s roads instead of destroying them.

Rugna’s script is smart and engaging, helping the nihilistic gore-fest achieve a dark sense of fun. As Scream did for slashers, When Evil Lurks lays out metatextual ground rules for surviving a demonic encounter — seven of them, in fact. They count out electricity, animals, objects that might have been close to the demon or the infected in question and demand that one never hurts a rotten or possessed. Don’t name it, don’t shoot it and, above all, don’t be afraid to die. It’s in fear, the matriarch of the family imparts, that the evil finds its way in.

When Evil Lurks refuses to shy away from the ugly realities of its savage terrain, the runtime propelling forward as it leaves a trail of bodies in its wake. While most of them get up and walk again, it’s only to the detriment of Pedro and Jimmy’s mental state, stripping them of everything they fought so hard for to begin with. They knew the rules and they didn’t always follow, giving into the heat of their emotions and forgetting themselves in the face of the possessed.

They’re called the “rotten” for a reason, after all. Their erosion reaches, claws, and gnaws at those around them, tearing down more than life. Tearing down will. Creating fear. Climbing in. Even in the small corners of the world, evil will infect and, when it’s all said and done, it’ll be the lucky ones who manage to die.

Crumb Catcher

It’s Shane and Leah’s wedding night and life is…tense.

Shane’s not happy. The pressure to perform and fit in amongst his new wife’s affluent friends and family — who have no semblance of understanding or respect for his heritage or his past — is constricting beyond measure. More complicated still, he’s on the cusp of releasing a tell-all novel about his estranged father and tumultuous childhood that he’s starting to suspect is more exploitation than emotional support on the part of those publishing it, his wife included.

Leah’s not happy. She’s tired of Shane’s flippant attitude toward the generosity of those around him, particularly her mother, and sick of having to clean up the proverbial messes his universally perceived selfishness leaves in its wake. Worse yet, she’s poured years of her life and career into his authorial voice and just when they’re on the cusp of some modicum of success, Shane wants to back out.

In some ways, the couple is doomed before Crumb Catcher even finds its genre footing, the combativeness and resentment already inherent in Shane and Leah’s relationship an interpersonal cancer that seems to have reached an advanced stage. However, it’s that suppressed animosity that results in the cracks through which usurpers John and Rose squeeze through, like some scurrying cockroaches drawn to the smell of money and deceit.

Directed by Chris Skotchdopole, Crumb Catcher is an exercise in discomfort, preying on the anxiety of social pressures that come from outside as well as within. What begins as an annoying caterer named John’s attempt to follow newlyweds to their honeymoon home in an effort to return their cake topper transforms into a social nightmare not entirely dissimilar from Who Invited Them. Hellbent on selling the couple on investing in his crumb disposal unit called “the Crumb Catcher,” John refuses to leave or take no for an answer. He’s looking for a partner and he believes he’s found two.

Produced by Larry Fessenden of Glass Eye Pix, the film watches as the characters’ repressed feelings transform from subtext to text, unraveling the broken dynamics of their relationship while mirroring back to them the couple’s worst qualities. At the center of it all is Shane and John, two men attempting to shape and control the situation at the expense of their significant others. But despite the berating, gaslighting, and feeble attempts at emotional manipulation, the truth wills out and, given the circumstances, Shane and Leah’s wedding night reaches its natural conclusion.

The Crumb Catcher asks its potential investors to consider the importance of conversation. What kills it? The waiter, of course, because someone has to come and clean up the mess.

But what if you could clean it up yourself?

Now that would be something, wouldn’t it? What if Shane and Leah had not had use for a waiter? What if they could have kept talking? Well, then, this particular wedding night, and maybe even the rest of their lives, might have been a lot less tense.

River

Mikoto starts by the river. Every time. Every loop. Where she goes from there is what changes and how she’s going to get time back on track is anybody’s guess. Still, she’d better hurry — she only has two minutes.

River finds a small inn in Kyoto stuck in a time loop localized to their region, affecting everyone inside. A comedy of errors that tracks the inn’s employees’ attempts to keep their guests happy despite concerns of the potentially infinite circuit, the film finds humor and heart in the good nature and compassion its characters employ given their cosmically baffling circumstances.

Director Junta Yamaguchi handles each loop by employing one static, two-minute tracking shot, putting viewers in the headspace of Mikoto, the character the film follows for every repeated turn in time. He’s careful to create a clear sense of geography to the inn as the film navigates the bulk of its rooms throughout its runtime, providing a sense of excitement to even the smallest excursions, be it a closet, kitchen, or bathroom the loop has yet to take.

Rooted within the simple repetition are the hidden desires and anxieties of the characters. Each person has a reason to want time to stop and each fights to avoid the truth of their emotions now that they have the opportunity to properly face them. Sometimes this ends in chaos — like suicide, murder, or fist fights — and other times it ends in freshly-bloomed romance. Each loop carries with it a new nuance of spirit, emotion, or character, ensuring that despite the recurring rhythm, River never feels redundant.

Mikoto may start by the river, but she’s never the same. Every time. Every loop. Where she goes, what she does, who she talks to — that’s what changes. And change is an important part of life. Still, it’s good to reflect before moving on sometimes, even if it’s only for a few minutes.

Property

[Editor’s Note: the review embargo for Property limits reviews to 100 words or less.]

A woman recovering from an attack on her life seeks refuge at her family’s farm at the behest of her husband. At the same time, the people who work and live there take up arms against the establishment forcing them to leave their home. What follows is a collision between the rich and distraught and the poor and desperate.

Part home-invasion, part eat-the-rich warfare, and all murky moral ground, Property is as merciless as the society which birthed the film’s treacherous class disparity to begin with. It’s a thought-provoking thriller with little interest in easy answers.