I Am A Ghost

Finally scratched a movie off of my Watchlist.
Yeah, I just now joined Letterboxed, and have a Watchlist. Because I am old and uncool and don't find out about all of these newfangled websites until they're way cray passé.

Said movie that I managed to scratch off is 2013's "I Am A Ghost" directed by one HP Lovecraft Mendoza and starring a girl who could very possibly be Sadako Yamamura's second cousin, once removed. Same hair, same dress, not as demure or as china doll graceful as the living Sadako (Ringo O) nor as scorbutically evil as dead Sadako, but somewhere in between: sweet and porcelain but with obvious scuff marks circling her width. Emily is singularly lonely, terribly confused and very, very dead. The trouble is, she keeps forgetting that she's dead, and has been dead for well over a hundred years, at least if we're using her antique wardrobe choices as measuring tools.

Emily knows something is wrong. The big, empty house she knocks around in all day every day isn't as empty as it should be: strange bumps and knocks rattle the attic that she refuses to set foot into. Sinister voices hiss her name from the radio. Worst of all, and yet best of all, is the disembodied voice of Sylvia, a clairvoyant woman whom Emily cannot see but whom she clings to for guidance. Sylvia has been hired by the family who lives in the house to get rid of Emily, but her sympathies lie with the dead girl who just cannot seem to move on despite Sylvia's best attempts to lead her to the light.

Emily wants to leave, but she's scared. She's also stuck and isn't sure why. Every way out of the house leads into dead black darkness. There is no light waiting for her. There is no salvation, no forgiveness, no Heaven or Hell, just endless purgatory. But why should a poor, murdered soul, so sweet and innocent, be condemned to walk the earth forever? What could she have done to deserve such a cruel fate? Turns out: plenty. Emily's memories are unreliable, her self-awareness her greatest enemy and her punishment, if not deserved, at least psychologically understandable. And if you think I'm going to ruin it for you, tell you what's keeping Emily anchored to the house where she died and spoil the ghostly therapy session between Emily and Sylvia, you're wronger than wrongface and deader than Emily. Go watch the fucking film for yourself. Can't you do anything without me holding your damn hand?

Fans of high paced, adrenaline-pumping, gore splattered, kitchen sink crazy ass stabby ghost fare like Insidious and The Conjuring, take note: leave now. Fuck off and take your kiddie cartoon horror with you. This is not for you. It will require the full dose of 54mg of Concerta for you spoonfed fuckers to pay attention to this film. And I know you: you'll be squirming and fidgeting and crying within 17 minutes, complaining that "nuthin's happening, this is dumb and boring and dumb even." Well shut up, the kid's table is over there in the corner. Grab yourself a juicebox and a big streaming chunk of Paranormal Activity 5 and let the Big People watch their stories. For IAAG is a quiet, mature, gracefully aging photograph preserved beneath a glass frame. It's hushed and gorgeous, glaring with camera flares and stormy skies and inner turmoil that lies thickly suffocating, heavier than dust, so utterly silent that it screams in your face and reverberates through your skull.

You'll need an appreciation for psychology, a lot of patience and a fat fucking dose of maturity to help you understand and fully value this film and the lengths to which it goes to establish a truly unsettling atmosphere. It's so subtle you may not notice it until it's over but trust me, that's a very good thing. The best analogy I can come up with for IAAG is a bag of Chex Muddy Buddies: at first you're like: "Well shit, where's the M&Ms and the little pretzel sticks and the peanuts? It's just Chex in here!" But soon you're holding an empty bag and feeling perhaps a little sick, maybe a little guilty, but still pretty goddamned good just the same.