Fear(s) of the Dark

Fear(s) of the Dark

85 Minutes

I love thrillers. And thrillers shot in black and white are even more terrifying. In Fear(s) of the Dark, a series of monochrome animated creepy, crawly stories, six of the hottest graphic artists and cartoonists wrote and designed shorts based on what they believe to be some of our darkest and deepest fears and phobias: spiders’ legs crawling on skin; noises in a dark bedroom; feeling a presence in a dark, empty house; a huge hypodermic needle getting closer and closer; dead things trapped in formaldehyde jars; scary dogs growling. I am fully prepared to be terrified, alone, in a small dark screening room, surrounded by a few strangers. As I sank deeper into my seat, the opening white and red credits jumped in staccato across a black screen to an eerie, original score that sounded like vintage Bernard Herrmann. This was going to be a rough ride, for sure.

The opening scene shows four, enormous, black, angry dogs bearing teeth as they try to pull against their restraints. They’re after something. Although they attempt to attack a delicate white bird and then an innocent little rabbit, their 18th century owner yanks and pulls on the harnesses and thwarts their efforts. But wait, here’s a cute little boy with vacant eyes staring at the dogs. One dog breaks loose, the boy runs and runs, screaming, the dog chases him over a hill before his screams are muted. Gobble, gobble. Not too scary — creepy, superb graphics, but I’m not scared yet.

Then we hear a woman’s voice describing her own fears that include social situations such as being seated at a dinner party and discovering writhing insects on her plate. It is as though she were in therapy seeking resolution. We never see the woman, only blobs and bursts of black and white — not unlike a Rorschach — timed with her speech.

The black dogs and the woman’s voice have been cleverly used as ghoulish and interesting breaks between vignettes. During these interludes, the dogs and the woman continue their own stories. At each juncture, one of the black dogs breaks loose and eats someone. The most interesting of these buffets was that of a flamenco dancer who fell to the floor, legs spread apart as the dog “ate” her. Whenever we are taken back to the woman in therapy, we learn that her specific fears parallel the next short.

The first short concerns Eric, who narrates his story from what appears to be a hospital bed. His childhood love of capturing insects and storing them in jars later becomes his own fate by way of an eagerly attentive female who has become the host of his escaped praying mantis. I’m still not scared, but loved the ideas behind this Stephen King-ish fiasco and its themes on demands of ownership of loved ones and their ramifications.

The next offering is in two parts and involves a young Japanese girl, Samuko, who is plagued by a doctor’s giant hypodermic needle and his urges to sleep in order to complete her nightmares before she will be cured. Here we have shades of Mesmer and Charcot who theorized that by inducing a state of hysteria through hypnosis, patients could be cured. Samuko’s horrific dreams involve abuse by fellow students and a dead Samurai. This ramble was not only not scary, it was scattered and silly.The monsters were even goofy. Yawn.

After this, we are taken to a doorway through which yet another man relives his childhood fears. He describes the disappearance of an uncle. Not long after, the villagers discover the decapitated head of another peasant, and soon the protagonist’s best friend disappears. The villagers believe a monster is to blame. A highly regarded gamekeeper is summoned to rid everyone of this demon and after a giant alligator is killed, everyone settles down — except the protagonist. He is troubled by nighttime noise and the shadow of a monster staring through his window, convinced that this is his buddy. Nope — not even close to being scary. A snoozer.

The final nightmare brings us to a beautiful white screen with a small blob in the distance and the sound of someone trudging through a blizzard. The hunched mass gets larger and becomes a man as he approaches an abandoned house, bangs on the door and then breaks in. After building a fire, drinking wine and settling in, the massive man leafs through a photo album that chronicles the life of a woman from a small girl through adulthood. From these photos, we learn that she was jilted by a young man, and then spent the rest of her life hating men– evidenced by the cut out heads of every male figure in her photos. She is a ghostly figure wandering the house and scaring the man who eventually gets locked in a closet, forever. Hmmm. The credits are now rolling and I am so happy to hear the score again. The music is more frightening than these little stories. Everyone bolts out of the theatre, including me. A huge disappointment. Perhaps the weird tales would be more terrifying if they were not animated. Perhaps terror, like comedy, is in the eyes and psyche of the beholder. In any event, I leave still needing a thriller-fix.

by Jane Hruska