Sinister

Sinister

Grade: B-

Directed by: Scott Derrickson

Starring: Ethan Hawke

From the makers of the better-than-expected Insidious comes Sinister, another better-than-most scary movie, that while not truly traumatizing or revelatory, is a welcome addition to the much maligned state of modern horror. This follows the same setup as Insidious and relies more on suspense and mood, rather than gore and shock (currently in vogue (e.g. Evil Dead, Saw)). Adding a solid thespian front and center (Hawke, in his first foray into the genre) helps ground the picture and get it away from teeny bopper slasher mode.

Hawke plays a true crime writer, whose first book was a landmark success. And he's been struggling to match that genius since. He moves his family to a new town, because he can't take being a teacher and editing textbooks anymore. He's not exactly a likable character, as it is revealed that he's mostly doing this for the money and fame. He yearns to be lusted after again, and is willing to put his family's safety at risk to do so. Hawke succeeds at playing the prideful and headstrong author, who is also manipulative and a heavy drinker. His wife seems to do nothing but create conflict when it's needed, and the kids are there to up the ante. Needless to say, this particular crime is bigger and scarier than he could've imagined.

The local coppers aren't too kind to hear of the author rolling into town and basically saying they didn't do their job, which supplies some early ominous feelings. And while moving to the town to do research is why they have come to town, let's just say the research hits a little closer to home. Then he finds a box of old "home movies" upstairs. They have cutesy titles like "Pool Party" but upon viewing the harmless title actually reveals itself to be about this child dropping his family into a pool and watching them drown, as they squirm helplessly tied to fold-out sunbathing chairs. Hawke smells gold mine. This is his ticket to the big time. Never mind that creepy stuff happens every time he watches them, and that he is in fact watching them repeatedly.

Things take a turn for the supernatural, and a local prof is brought in to clear things up (lazy writer device) in the Skyping D'Onofrio, who apparently had nothing better to do besides be bearded and sort of eccentric. Extra points for having the gall to give such an ugly ending, although the crazy bits and the true crime nature feel a little at odds to me. It's what a scary movie should be, a little unnerving, ominous, moody, and out there.