Tag Archives: Mental illness

IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: TIERRA [EARTH] (1996)

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DIRECTED BY: Julio Medem

FEATURING: Carmelo Gómez, Emma Suárez, Silke, Karra Elejalde, Nancho Novo

PLOT: A man fresh out of a mental hospital takes a job fumigating a scourge of wood lice in the countryside in Spanish wine country, where he finds himself irresistibly drawn to both a comely young wife who is neglected by her farmer husband and a spirited wild child who is being kept as a mistress by that same husband.

Still from Tierra (1996)

COMMENTS: Ángel is cool as a cucumber. At least, Ángel as portrayed by Carmelo Gómez is cool as a cucumber. Looking like Judd Nelson at the moment when he might have been the sexiest member of the Brat Pack, he’s utterly unflappable, rolling into town in his exterminator truck and telling the residents how he will wipe out the wood lice that have been making their wine taste “earthy.” Is earthy bad? You wouldn’t think so to watch Ángel take a taste. On paper, he ought to be the most unsettled man in Spain: mental stability in question, with a trip to a sanitarium that everyone knows about, his life narrated by an alter ego that constantly reminds him of his mortality, reduced to killing bugs in a dusty nowheresville, and deeply attracted to two beautiful but distinctly opposite women, each of whom is being kept by a possessive and violent man. Ángel ought to be up to his ears in anxiety. But there he sits, laid back like the cool philosophy professor, taking things as they come, man. It’s fascinating.

Tierra is notably odd for being a character study about a character with very little character. Ángel keeps finding himself in extreme circumstances: encountering a lightning strike victim, arousing the ire of a full Roma encampment, accidentally (?) shooting a rival during a town-wide hunt for wild boars. In every case he is preternaturally calm, taking in the circumstances with the passive contentment of a saint—which the film suggests he may be, hinting more than once that he has had a life-changing experience. On the other hand, we’re also told that his stint in the mental ward was due to an “overactive imagination.” Whatever Ángel’s truth may be, Gómez plays it close to the vest.

It would be completely reasonable for Ángel to be torn between the two young women he meets in town. Ángela, the fetching young mom with a name that screams out how in sync the two must be, is played by Suárez with an aching need that she hopes the newcomer can fill. Meanwhile, Silke’s sexpot Mari always seems to be bending over a pool table with painted-on jeans and a come-hither stare, but she is just as desperate for the change in circumstances that Ángel could provide. But what exactly Ángel has to offer to either of them, beyond escape from the status quo, is not entirely clear. Medem manufactures some suspense over whether he will end up with the sweet mom or the hot chick, but neither the tension nor the choice is altogether convincing. 

In a review of another Medem film, a critic observed that “there’s the sense that he’s more interested in his ideas than in his people.” That suspicion permeates Tierra. The barrenness of the Spanish landscape captivates, creating an almost apocalyptic feel, and an outsider with a supernatural connection would absolutely fill a narrative void. But Medem’s affection for Ángel is such that his protagonist does nothing but win, which means that even the ideas aren’t all that compelling. Wherever Ángel and his new companion are headed, there is little reason to worry about them. No wonder he’s so cool all the time. He never has to feel the heat.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“Like Medem’s two most recent films, ‘Tierra’ (Spanish for ‘Earth’) is an intricately structured, densely allusive affair. Its central figure is an itinerant exterminator named Angel (Carmelo Gomez) — a nod in the direction of Luis Bunuel’s ‘The Exterminating Angel,’ you might think, but only in the sense that both films draw water from the same surrealist pond… Despite its affectations, however — thanks mainly to a stunning ocher cinematographic palette, rock-solid acting and a story that’s as robustly sensual as it is otherworldly — ‘Tierra’ keeps its two feet (two of everything, in fact) firmly grounded on this Earth.” – Michael O’Sullivan, Washington Post (repertory review)

(This movie was nominated for review by Morgan. Suggest a weird movie of your own here.)

READER RECOMMENDATION: THE MANIPULATOR (1971)

Reader Recommendation from James Auburn

AKA BJ Presents; B.J. Lang Presents 

Beware

“…a motion picture so haunted… it will never be shown!” – B.J. Lang Presents trailer

DIRECTED BY: Yabo Yablonsky

FEATURING: , ,

PLOT: The film takes place almost entirely on a dusty soundstage. B.J. Lang (Rooney) has kidnapped a woman he refers to as Carlotta (Luana Anders of “Easy Rider”) and has tied her to a wheelchair. Lang spends nearly 90 minutes tormenting Carlotta, screaming at her, forcing her to recite lines to an imaginary movie, and spooning baby food into her mouth, among other indignities. 

Still from the manipulator (1971)

WHY IT MIGHT MAKE THE LIST: This acid-damaged wannabe-arthouse film has stupefied even jaded psychotronic film freaks. Every “hip” avant-garde editing gimmick in the psychedelic-era toolbox is utilized: strobe lights, fish-eye lens, solarization, freeze-frames, quick-cut frames of random images, flashbacks/flash-forwards, slow-motion/fast-motion, etc. The viewing experience feels like a 90-minute long, 104-degree-fever hallucination that makes you question your own sanity. The uncomfortably cathartic performances from its two leads seem like a blend of acting-workshop exercises and heavy existential therapy put on film. Through extended monologues, the central character explores his own inner turmoil and waxes philosophical about life and show business, and as he wallows in his own insanity, the movie itself follows suit.

 

COMMENTS: Yes, one of the most demented movies you’ve ever seen starred Mickey Rooney—and he gives a psychotic tour-de-force performance that must be seen to be disbelieved.

In the opening scene, B.J. Lang enters the soundstage, as if to begin a routine day of work, passing cobwebbed props and backdrops; he sits down, and starts talking excitedly to thin air. Lang establishes himself as either a movie director who has gone insane, or an insane man who fancies himself a movie director; it’s never quite clear which. He runs a take of an imaginary movie scene while barking orders at mannequins and a film crew that exists only in his addled head. This opening segment culminates in a nightmarish two-minute freakout sequence with Lang screaming at two nude white-bodypainted figures (his parents? sure, why not) who cruelly laugh at him, over a screeching electronic racket. Suddenly: silence. Closeup: Lang is drenched in sweat, exhausted, as are our eardrums and sensibilities. What’s your threshold for cinematic insanity? You’ll know in the first ten minutes of The Manipulator.

We then discover Carlotta, tied to the wheelchair. Evidently she’s been there against her will for some time. For a long stretch, her only line is “I’m hungry, Mr. Lang!” She repeats it, again and again, with every different inflection she can muster (Lang spoon-feeds her a few Continue reading READER RECOMMENDATION: THE MANIPULATOR (1971)

IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: THE LIVING AND THE DEAD (2006)

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DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: Leo Bill, Roger Lloyd Pack, Kate Fahy

PLOT: The once-noble Brocklebank family struggles to cope with father Donald’s failing finances, mother Nancy’s terminal illness, and adult son James’ crippling paranoid schizophrenia. 

COMMENTS: Horror makes its bones on the power of surprise, but one particular strain of horror that often goes overlooked is the kind without surprise at all, where the outcome of an action can be seen from miles away and the emotional trigger is the dreadful sense of inevitability. You know you’re going to see something deeply unsettling, and that something unfolds steadily, irrevocably, and awfully. The Living and the Dead is all in on that kind of horror, the slow-motion trainwreck where you’re always aware that bad things are going to happen, and all that’s left is to hammer out the details.

The run-down country estate where we set our scene is the kind of place that must have been a Downton Abbey-style hub of activity a century ago but is now threadbare and barely functional owing to the occupants’ flailing attempts to manage the upkeep on their own. This would be enough plot to fill your standard British class drama, with matriarch Nancy’s chronic illness as a complicating factor. But The Living and the Dead has the additional wild card of James, an adult in appearance but possessing the mind and haphazard body control of a petulant 8-year old. He constantly demands a level of responsibility and respect that he can never merit, and it’s obvious that his beleaguered parents have yielded him some control—most notably, access to his own medication—out of sheer overwork and desperation. And this is where you immediately start to see the terrible pieces falling into place. Lloyd Pack’s David is a doting father tempered with British restraint and propriety, but as the sole member of the household with relatively good physical and mental health, he has more on his shoulders than he can reasonably bear. Meanwhile, Fahy’s sickly mom surely knows that she is not safe in James’ company but is literally powerless to overrule him. So we march toward the seemingly inevitable outcome, dreading the destination we know we must reach.

Bill commits in full, emphasizing James’ unmanageability and highlighting the nobility of Donald’s stalwart support. Without a trace of humor or sentimentality, the performance earns our pity while exposing the horror of the situation. Rumley accentuates the discomfort by using Requiem for a Dream-style techniques—bursts of fast-forward speed runs, shaky camera and double exposures, cacophonous soundtracking—to heighten the paranoia, confusion, and instability in James’ head. The director also slips in a crucial bit of misdirection late in the second act, stepping inside one of James’ delusions and blurring the line between reality and hallucination. James’ world is the peak of weirdness in The Living and the Dead, and it sets up the stark, unhappy drama of the film’s more grounded final scenes.

Rumley has said that he drew inspiration from his own mother’s terminal illness. If this is the dark metaphor for that experience, it was a gut-wrenching ordeal indeed. What proves weirdest about The Living and the Dead isn’t the characters or their circumstances, but the fact that we’re given a glimpse inside them, one which we already know we want to avoid. Rumley crafts a reminder that decline and death come for us all, as well as a warning that sometimes there’s an unpredictable pain that comes first.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“A bizarre psychological study of degeneration and dependency, “The Living and the Dead” is a horror movie only in the most literal sense. Skirting genre conventions, Simon Rumley’s twisted feature inhabits shores where the gore is minimal and the demons unseen – neither of which makes it any less disconcerting… The travails of Britain’s inbred aristocracy have long been mined by its filmmakers, but rarely with such eccentricity or unrelieved ruthlessness.” – Jeannette Catsoulis, The New York Times (contemporaneous; subscription required)

(This movie was nominated for review by BlueYonder. Suggest a weird movie of your own here.)     

APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: THE MANSION OF MADNESS (1972)

La mansión de la locura; AKA Dr. Tarr’s Torture Dungeon

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DIRECTED BY: Juan Lopez Moctezuma

FEATURING: , Arthur Hansel, Ellen Sherman

PLOT: A journalist visits a celebrated mental health asylum in this loose adaptation of ‘s 1845 short story “The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether.”

WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: A surrealist exploration of insanity from within the walls of a 19th century asylum should be a shoo-in for us. Add to this premise Panic Group-style theatrics, trippy sequences blurring the line between delusion and reality, and low-budget constraints which up the surrealism factor, and it becomes an even stronger contender.

COMMENTS: Poe’s satiric tale “The System of Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether” begins in Gothic style: “Through this dank and gloomy wood we rode some two miles, when the Maison de Santé came in view. It was a fantastic chateau, much dilapidated, and indeed scarcely tenantable through age and neglect. Its aspect inspired me with absolute dread. . .” The Mansion of Madness begins with a horse-drawn carriage swallowed up by fog. The image then solarizes into contrasting pale blue light and blood red shadows, plunging the viewer into a psychedelic journey.

American journalist Gaston (Hansel) has finagled an assignment to report on the innovative methods of treating mental illness developed by renowned Dr Maillard. After a disturbing encounter at the mansion’s gate with armed guards dressed as rejects from Napoleon’s army, Gaston’s traveling companions desert him. His friend Couvier has an abhorrence of the mentally ill and his female cousin is near to fainting. He assures Gaston his card will serve as an introduction; their carriage turns around and the intrepid reporter proceeds on his own.

While Gaston meets the distinguished Maillard (Brook), and his charming young niece Eugénie (Sherman), Couvier’s carriage succumbs to a violent attack by the “guards” before it can leave the forest. With his coachman overpowered, Couvier proves himself comically useless in a fight; after commanding his cousin to flee, he leaves her to save herself. The trio end up being taken captive, while Maillard takes Gaston on a tour of the sanitarium while explaining his “system of soothing.”

Sensory overload best describes the experience of entering The Mansion of Madness. Artfully arranged actors and still-life accumulations of everyday objects fill every frame. We never see a single establishing shot. Gaston appears to enter the maison through its boiler room, passing through a maze of industrial piping and blazing furnaces as curious faces stare out of the machinery. The “soothing system,” as Maillard explains, allows the inmates their freedom; there are no straight jackets here.

Moctezuma studied art in college before turning to film making (which he called “painting at 24 frames per second”). He began his directing career in television. On one of his shows none other than destroyed a piano as a musical performance; Continue reading APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: THE MANSION OF MADNESS (1972)

SLAMDANCE FILM FESTIVAL: APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: IN THE MOUTH (2025)

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Recommended

DIRECTED BY: Cory Santilli

FEATURING: Colin Burgess, Paul Michael

PLOT: Merl, a shut-in forced to take in a roommate to cover the rent, fears his giant head that slumbers on the front lawn.

 Still from In the Mouth (2025)

WHY IT MIGHT MAKE THE APOCRYPHA: The central premise, as explained above, is enough to make this an easy in; but Santilli’s one-set comedy also lays on plenty of quirky flourishes on top of this (massive) conceit.

COMMENTS: Merl lives in a world of his own. This world is made up of an undefined number of rooms, and a narrow hallway just long enough for him to scooter around through it—kind of. Making the corners is a little tough. Merl cannot leave his home, relying on a pulley system to retrieve his mail, and a dino-head bite grip to pull in the larger parcels which do not fit in his mailbox. His world ends at his front door. Beyond that door is our world, peopled by complicated types demanding rent, and inhabited by a head that’s roughly one story tall. It usually slumbers, but intermittently reminds Merl of its presence with booming yawns.

Writer/director Cory Santilli builds a narrative terrarium for his protagonist. Merl lives a highly unscheduled life: puttering around, arranging objets, and avoiding the invader, Margaret, who owns the property in question. Informed both by classic “creature features”—see credit’s title font and hear the title music—and noir—jazz music flairs and crisp, black and white cinematography pleases the eye—Santilli bends these livelier genres to his own quiet ends, and then upends the tone and action by introducing a criminal on the run. Interloper Larry is both a lens to view our subject anew and a means of creating empathy for the odd protagonist. He calls Merl “brother”, and insists that Merl do please call him “Lah”—because it’s easier. (Merl matter-of-factly inquires, “Is it?”)

Whether or not Merl’s rent gets paid is something of a moot point. Santilli takes his viewers on an up-close journey through the daily struggles and joys of an agoraphobic, choosing a delightfully apt metaphor to do so. It’s a funny film, too, with ’90s nostalgia (how many people have AskedJeeves™ how to dispose of a corpse?) and genre-twisting (this first time I’ve witnessed the Good Cop / Deaf Cop trope). Complications leave Merl with a bag of cash and a body to dispose of. This, despite all the “baby cameras” (not cameras for babies, mind, but cameras hidden in the creepy little baby-headed figurines Merl accumulates) secreted about the house. So, where else to put the corpse, but…

In The Mouth is a strange little character study kept under the watchful eye of an absurd premise: this head in the front lawn. Merl’s head. It is Merl’s keeper, and in true form of a domineering partner, his protector.  While Merl’s world appears to be large enough, we know—and he knows—that a paradigm shift must eventually come to a head.

In the Mouth debuted at Slamdance Film Festival in February 2025. We’ll keep you abreast of any distribution plans when we know more.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…such a bold, weird, creative film…”–Shane Conto, Wasteland Reviews (festival screening)