Tag Archives: martin henderson

Gore Verbinski’s The Ring

I remember the first time I saw Gore Verbinski’s The Ring back when I was eleven; broad daylight, started it at like ten in the morning, and got so scared I almost refused leave the house to go to the beach later with my family. Some films just stay with you if you see them at an impressionable age, and no matter how desensitized and thick skinned you get as your life goes on, you never lose at least a modicum of the raw terror you felt back then (don’t even get me started on The Grudge). Couple that with how beautifully dark the mood and aura of this film is thanks to nocturnally themed cinematography by Bojan Bazelli that turns Seattle and the surrounding rural areas into an eerie ghost playground, and you get something wholly memorable. By now the story is iconic; Naomi Watts plays a forlorn investigative journalist scoping out an urban legend in which people die seven days after they view a videotape apparently showing an experimental student film, which is tied to the backstory of the mysterious Samara (Daveigh Chase) a young girl with unholy supernatural tendencies. Edited together with a grainy VHS aesthetic contrasted by clearly lit, distinct nature and skyline shots, Verbinski gives the film an unmistakable visual element. co-starring talent is also provided by Martin Henderson, David Dorfman, Rachael Bella, Amber Tamblyn, Jane Alexander, Adam Brody and a haunting Brian Cox as Samara’s disconcerted father. I’m not sure how the plot mechanics of the original Japanese film play out, but here they make a wise choice by never divulging exactly *what* is wrong with Samara, just that there is something severely off about her, and it’s that ambiguity combined with Chase’s eerie waif performance that make the character so memorable. Everyone shits their pants at the infamous television scene, but for me the ultimate scare resides in the almost unbearably suspenseful opening prologue, and the quick, blood freezing scene of the aftermath, I’ll never quite be the same after seeing a certain expression on a certain girl’s face. A dime-piece of a fright flick, a fine piece of filmmaking and a horror classic.

-Nate Hill

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John Woo’s Windtalkers


John Woo’s Windtalkers is a brutal, somber, joyless affair, a muddy and hopeless war picture that contains little of the ethereal poise of stuff like The Thin Red Line or heroic muscle such as Saving Private Ryan. As long as you can adjust and tune into it’s frequency it’s a well made, sorrowful look at the American effort against Japan, particularly a mission involving a regiment whose task is to protect Native Navajo code breakers that can detect messages fired off by the enemy. A mopey Nicolas Cage is their shell shocked leader, pressing his men onward into territory that no doubt contains the same horrors he witnessed before the film begins. We find him in a trauma ward initially, cared for by a kindly nurse (Frances O’Connor), until Jason Isaacs cameos as the recruitment officer who spurs him back into action. His troupe is composed solely of excellent, distinct acting talent and they help the film considerably. The Navajo are played by Adam Beach and Roger Willie, giving grace and nobility to two men who are out of their depth and terrified. Peter Stormare, Christian Slater, Noah Emmerich, Mark Ruffalo, Brian Van Holt and a standout Martin Henderson are the rest of the troops, each getting their moment to shine within the unit’s cohesive arc. Woo is an odd choice for a war picture, and his stylized flair for bullet ridden action is nowhere to be found in these bleak, bloodied trenches, trading in suits and duel wielded glocks for faded camo and muted rifle fire. The action is neither cathartic nor poetic, simply a concussive cacophony of combat that offers little aesthetic pleasure, forcing you to find the value in empathy towards these men, and as long as you can do that, you’ll get something out of it. 

-Nate Hill