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Movies

“A Spell to Ward Off the Darkness” (2013) — Movie Review

A still from "A Spell to Ward Off the Darkness"
A still from “A Spell to Ward Off the Darkness”

Roughly half way through “A Spell to Ward Off the Darkness (2013)” is a prolonged shot of a man fishing on a lake while a rainstorm gently builds around him. The shot is stable with the only movement provided by the boat as it drifts around in mid frame. Raindrops delicately splash in the foreground and, in the far distance, a bolt of lightning flashes too far away to be heard. The shot stretches out for several minutes, and it’s a testament to the transformative power of the movie, that by this point in the movie, I didn’t want this shot to end. “A Spell to Ward off the Darkness” is in a sense a spiritual travelogue, if not a cinematic vehicle for spiritual pilgrimage, best seen in a temporary commune of the like-minded that occur from time to time in movie houses and at festivals like the Ann Arbor Film Festival.

Why the hell am I reviewing a “spiritual travelogue” on a horror website? Regular readers of The Daily Nightmare know we examine Midwest Snob Horror as these products reveal the glories and travails of the human condition. “A Spell to Ward off the Darkness” is in no way a genre horror movie, despite the title’s intimation of both witchcraft and cosmic darkness, and despite the final scenes where the central figure dons corpse paint to front a black metal band. This is a movie about the durability of hope and the fragility of its specific expressions. But if you are a horror fan you would do well to see this movie. The endless, brain-eating parade of apocalypse-porn movies of recent years has slowly eroded our will to imagine a better life, a better life together, a better life together that may only appear fragmentarily, temporarily, and from time to time. “A Spell to Ward off the Darkness” examines three possible utopias, strung together roughly by a central figure’s pilgrimage. Sort of. An analysis here is appropriate because horror is best portrayed against a backdrop of hope.

The first provisional utopia is a commune somewhere in Eastern Europe. (End credits reveal it to be Estonia.) Time for these dozen or so members is measured in long moments of reflection, music, naps, sauna baths, cigarette smoking, and the construction of a geodesic dome from plans to a completed structure. The courage of the filmmakers is to let shots run until the magic happens. For instance, in one shot a woman leisurely smokes a cigarette on the porch when, about a minute in, a plume of woodsmoke from the shack felicitously wafts into the frame, revealing beams of dappled sunshine that entirely reconfigure the image, creating a cathedral of light that frames her. These long gazes into the oft overlooked moments of life provide an antidote to the manipulative, barrage of short shots quickly edited that assail us in so much commercial culture.

The central figure is a black guitarist who I believe does not speak a single word throughout the film. He smokes a cigarette in the nearly completed dome before embarking on a period of Thoreauvian solitude that forms the second possible utopia. This second section of the film presents some of the most striking images, one of my favorite being a closeup of an ant colony, miked so closely to detect their thrumming activity. But my double-plus good favorite shot of the entire film lingers on the fire that consumes the central character’s shack at the end of this section. I just LOVE watching shit burn down, something I first realized watching Tarkovsky’s The Sacrifice. Maybe I should talk to a therapist about that predilection.

The final segment of the film focuses on the central figure as he fronts a black metal band. The camerawork is sinuous — in contrast to the sometimes jerky hand-held footage of the commune sequence — gliding amid the musicians, as the singer wails both plaintive and feral and the guitars and drum pound, complex and intense. The corpse paint on the performers liquefies with their sweat during the performance. Only in this final section are there faces of older people, scattered in the audience. As a middle aged guy myself, I was left wondering if the yearning for hope, for community is a young person’s dream. The central figure does not rest at this utopia either but wipes off his makeup to head out into the darkness, perhaps toward an enigmatically pulsing light.

The key insight I took from the movie was the allusion, made rather early on, to the notion of a temporary autonomous zone, that moment of free-play and synchronicity that sometimes occurs at a good party, or a good rave. Individual utopias emerge and pass away, but that yearning for a better way of life is an enduring ground of human hope.

I can hear the gore-hounds grumbling already. Sure, “A Spell to Ward off the Darkness” could be dismissed as experimental but it’s a successful experiment. In absolutely no way could it be called a thriller, though the sense of wonder and tenuous encouragement it kindles is, I suppose, a kind of thrill. Do not be deceived; it is NOT a horror movie in any sense but for cry it out loud, take a break from watching yet another re-made slasher film or still-born undead re-hash, could ya? See “A Spell to Ward off the Darkness” preferably in the presence of others with open hearts and open minds. If you absolutely have to counter-act its message with a bit of gloom, maybe make a double feature of the evening and watch “Until the Light Takes Us” about the grimmer side of first generation Norwegian black metal.

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Book

“Inspired by…”?– From Nightmare to Your Submission

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We’ve had questions about what we mean that submissions should be “inspired by” an actual nightmare that we’ve posted on the site. Fair question. Lord knows, the words “Inspired by True Events” have caused us to roll our eyes so often we’ve suffered permanent brain damage. But even though nightmares are “true events,” sometimes devastatingly real for the dreamer, it can be challenging to get to the facts of the matter.

Clearly we’d like it best if you could travel to the dream-realm and uncover the events. You could merge your consciousness with the original dreamer, allowing you to re-enter the actual dream and craft a tale based on that direct experience. Perhaps via a hypnotic trance. Or hire someone to read the account of the nightmare to you, over and over, while you sleep. Alas, we know how hard it is to find professional dream-whisperers these days.

The next best solution —- and fully valid —- would be to evoke the sensation of a dream while using any element of the nightmare in question. ANY element. This kernel could be an image, a turn of phrase, the mood… We ask that your piece stand on its own because it’s highly likely readers won’t look up the original nightmare to check on how closely your account matches.

Pro Tip: Don’t go with your first thought. Or maybe your second or third. Sharpen at least one point of the literary pentagram: character, plot, mood, theme, setting. Further advice: imbue your piece with a “sense of completion” that grants the reader the same sensations experienced following a satisfying dream or nightmare.

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"What We Fear" Fears & Phobias Movies

Death, Fear and Bad Decisions: Green Burial Options

graverobbedHalfway through the presentation on green burial options, I was fully creeped out but not at all by the practical and creative alternatives presented by Merilynne Rush of After Death Home Care. I was terrified by the fact of my own death in a way that was rather embarrassing. I write horror fiction, review horror culture, heck, I even collect skulls and skull-shaped sculpture. I’ve buried both my parents and, within the past four months, watched my brother-in-law die at home, at peace and surrounded by love. My earliest childhood memories are of family gatherings at the funerals of obscure relatives. I know death, right? But the photo of a hole in the ground ready for a shroud burial, a bare cavity in the earth, one without marker or protection from the elements, and I was side-swiped by the fact of my own fragility, mortality and insignificance. And this reaction really brought home the point of the presentation: how many important decisions do we make based on unexamined fears?

I am also no stranger to green alternatives. I’ve tended a compost pile since I was 7, grown at least some of my own food ever since and the grand “circle of life” is a potent metaphor in my imagination. Except, perhaps too often, I imagine the circle going on around me without fully realizing the realities of my own “passing away.” We don’t simply “pass away;” we leave a very corporeal residue. As a culture, we’ve fallen into certain habits for dealing with these physical remains. Embalming, I learned, became popular during the Civil War as a way to ship soldiers’ bodies home for funerals. Ms. Rush’s presentation taught me, however, that in most cases, dry ice can chill and preserve a body more than long enough for public services. Those services can be very personal affairs. Home funerals were common in this country less than a hundred years ago. The photos she showed of such home funerals– all with the complete consent of family — depicted dead persons surrounded with stuff of their lives, a guitar, a hand-decorated coffin, their own bed. The bodies looked peaceful, oddly wholesome, naturally dead without the professional interventions of a mortician. Bodies can be washed and dressed at home and the presenter noted that the task is often an opportunity for those grieving to understand and accept the reality that their loved ones are no longer there. I was surprised by how few legal requirements are actually involved and there are more in Michigan than in other states. If I understand it correctly, only two signatures are needed for a home funeral but getting those particular signatures on those particular documents during a time of grief can be a challenge. Green alternatives to conventional burial don’t just happen without a bit of forethought. The guidance of an experienced consultant like Merilynne Rush of After Death Home Care surely would be helpful.

The ecological impact of our deaths continues on long after our burial, however. Conventionally maintained cemeteries require continual investments of gasoline and attention to tend the grounds perpetually for visitors who might not ever come. Ms. Rush showed various green alternative burial places including a full conservation site that looked like a prairie dotted with saplings. And I found this image as hard to cope with as the one of a naked grave. Weird, right? I feel most alive when I am wandering that very kind of terrain. I have often joked about wishing to be composted when I die, but that humor must have masked some deeply seated fear of passing away without a trace. I found it oddly comforting that State records meticulously record the precise locations of all burial locations. I might dream of becoming as famous as Edgar Allen Poe, whose grave was visited by anonymous libation-bearing stranger every year on his birthday but seriously, is such a nebulous and unlikely dream really worth the real and predictable costs of a traditional grave? I wonder yet again, how many of my life choices are guided and constrained by such unfounded hopes and unexamined fears.

The presentation was hardly dour and grim memento mori. Merilynne exuded a peaceful, reverent demeanor, very conducive to discussing these hard options. She also played a segment of Caitlyn Doughty’s “Ask a Mortician” video podcast. We at the DailyNightmare LURV Doughty’s Order of the Good Death and have linked to her videos in the past. A little humor and good will goes a long way when dealing with such sensitive, final issues.

Are you intrigued by greener alternatives to traditional funerals and burial? If you’re in SE Michigan, you’re in luck. After Death Home Care is sponsoring a showing of the movie “A Will for the Wilderness” a feature length documentary, at the Michigan Theatre in Downtown Ann Arbor, June 1st at 1:00. The film records one man’s attempts to be treated in death according to the values he held in life. Read more at the After Death Home Care site here. in ways that better align with his values in life

Tucked away in the thumb of Michigan is an old cemetery where my people are buried. I visit it usually once or twice a year, pause in front of the stones like a solitary family reunion. My beloved grandmother who taught me how to bake bread, the grandfather I never knew, my uncle who tucked a baby chick under his jacket, my aunt who had all the cats… and also my mother and father are there. But of course, they aren’t there. They’re in my heart, my oh so perishable heart. In a hundred years, it’s unlikely many will have such memories to attach to these very permanent markers. Merilynne Rush’s presentation certainly got me thinking about how I might better request treatment in death according to the values I held in life. I was startled to find that some facets of this question seriously creep me out, a devoted horror-hound. This terror intrigues me. This Memorial Day, consider your notions of what should happen to your remains after death if for no other reason than such unexamined fears shape our behavior in life.

Categories
Nightmares

Nightmare #355: Locked out

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(Male, 40s) This bad dream came at the end of a night of bad dreams, one right after the other. They weren’t all scary, but they were all disturbing and unsettling, which made for a really crappy night of sleep. Nothing like being locked out to put a person in a fine mood!

In this final episode, I had a dream about living in a big city. I was just about to stand up at a wedding in the park, but at the last minute, I decided that I’d look better in my best suit instead of the jacket and pants separates I was wearing. I excused myself and ran down the rain soaked streets.

I ran past a person who was my girl friend, who was shouting up to me– a different me or an earlier me?– who looked out of a window. She was under the impression that she was invited to the wedding too and had made a cheese tray. The “me” standing in the window didn’t think this was a good idea or didn’t know what she was talking about.

I tried to hurry to my house, a large brick building, but the street had tilted so badly that I had to grab into the cracks between the pavers to pull myself along. It was almost like trying to climb uphill. I was worried that my wife had locked me out, or more likely that she hadn’t given me a key yet to my own house. We had lots of houseguests, I gather, and they each needed a key. I guess she had given someone my key. I was locked out.

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Book

Call for Submissions for the DailyNightmare.com’s Second Anthology

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DailyNightmare.com is accepting submissions for its second annual anthology of 100-word prose poems based on any of the 350-plus nightmares currently posted on the site (https://dailynightmare.com/category/nightmares/). Payment will be $10.00 made via PayPal and a .pdf of the final anthology in exchange for First World Serial Rights, electronic rights, and reprint rights for posters and postcards. (After one year, rights can be reassigned to the author.) In addition to professional word-rate, this will be a cool-looking publication since we intend to exploit all the tricks of expressive digital typography.

The deadline for submissions is July 1.

A couple extremely specific criteria:

1) All submissions must be “inspired by” one of the nightmares posted on the site. (Hint: Want to submit a story based on one of YOUR nightmares? Then submit a non-fictional account of the nightmare along with the art or story that it inspired. We’ll assign it a Nightmare Number.)

2) Written submissions (stories or poems) must contain EXACTLY 100 words including title.

Email submissions to: anthology @ dailynightmare.com
and include the number of the inspirational nightmare in the SUBJECT line
Include a brief bio (~ 25 – 50 words) with the submission so we don’t have to track you with our hellhounds.

What are we looking for? We at the DailyNightmare groove on the idea of inhabiting each other’s dreams, even the nasty, ooky ones, and this anthology is one step toward that kind of communal nightmare-scape.

100 words aren’t many, so sharpen at least one point of the narrative pentacle: mood, character, plot, setting, theme, and try to imbue your piece with a “sense of completion.” Poetry or prose, matters not; word count does. DailyNightMare.com celebrates literate terror (or “snob horror” if you will), so heighten the language, make every syllable count and don’t be afraid to mean something.

Multiple submissions are AOK, though no more than 13 per author.

Why these rights? Legal rights nomenclature hasn’t caught up with digital realities yet, and we want to cover our tails since we plan to use every corner of the Web to publicize this endeavor. We are also planning to typeset each story “expressively” and hope the resulting pieces will be attractive enough to use as posters and postcards. We will keep the contributor in the loop and, where feasible, contributors will get a free copy of any of these subsidiary creations beyond the initial three publication types: a hoity-toity extremely limited hard-bound, a POD softcover edition and a .pdf and/or ebook edition. If “rights” is, like, “a thing” getting in the way of your submission, let us know which rights you’re reserving at time of submission and we’ll try to work something out.

If you’d like to receive a digital copy of the first anthology, drop us a note and will send one your way.

If you are submitting your own nightmare with your story, be advised that we publish the nightmares under a Creative Commons, attribution license. Basically, other folks can use the nightmares themselves in any way, as long as they note they got ‘em from theDailyNightmare.com. We anonymize the nightmares to binary gender and decade age (i.e. “Male, 30?s”) so please include those… and feel free to embellish or lie. On the internet, no one knows you’re not 200 years old and female.

Categories
Nightmares

Nightmare #354: Strange Supper

Swedish buffet Smorgasbord. Photo by bjaglin, used under the Creative Commons License
Swedish buffet Smorgasbord. Photo by bjaglin, used under the Creative Commons License

(female 30s) I don’t remember the rest of the dream, only one strange scene of it– which I would consider a nightmare for sure.

I was in some new place with people I didn’t know, and across the room, there was a huge banquet table spread out, covered with all kinds of food. But something odd caught my eye: a human body, laid out on a huge platter, roasted or something.

I said, “Oh my god, is that a person?”

Someone said, “Yes, she offered herself up.”

“She what?” I asked

“She wanted to be eaten. In our culture, it’s a great sacrifice and a great honor.”

“But that’s awful. How could you do that to her?” I was getting really upset.

“But she wanted it. She volunteered.”

“That still doesn’t make it right!” I insisted, and I got out of that place as quickly as I could.

The creepy, ooky feeling of the dream stuck with me all day. Even now, when I think about it — ugh!

Categories
Nightmares

Nightmare #353: Lost in the Landscape

Cornfields, by Dschwen used under Creative Commons license
Cornfields, by Dschwen used under Creative Commons license

(Female 20s) I’m not sure if this counts as a nightmare, but here goes. I have a couple of landscapes that reoccur in my dreams. They are like the background to a different story each time, but when I see them, I know things aren’t going to go well. I know I’m lost.

One is a city where I’ve never been in real life. I’ve been there enough in my dreams that it looks familiar to me, but I don’t know my way around and that’s the problem. I’m always lost. Maybe the streets move around or are added or taken away. Whatever the reason, I spend time wandering around, usually trying to find someone or get away from something. Even though I’ve been there before, I am lost anyway, whether I’m walking or driving.

The other place is out in the country. I’m usually driving here. The roads are a big grid. I keep passing junctions where two roads come together at right angles. There are stop signs and cornfield, but there are never any street signs. The landscape just goes on and on, repeating the same cornfields and stop signs. I never get anywhere in this place either. I’m always lost here too.