2016 has been a strong year for horror. The Witch, Under the Shadow, Green Room,
and other notables are destined to wind up on a slew of end-of-the-year best-of
lists. And these are just a few of the bigger, hyped-up movies that have hit.;
we haven’t even started digging into less buzzed-about titles. And there are still
more on the way—Don’t Breathe and The Woods are two I’m particularly jazzed on.
But as strong as the genre has been so far this year, not
every film is on this near-classic level. Director David F. Sandberg’s
Lights Out falls short of this mark. Perfectly serviceable, and
not without certain charms, the story of standoffish loner, Rebecca (Teresa Palmer), her troubled half-brother, Martin (Gabriel Bateman), and their haunted
mother, Sophie (Maria Bello), is never more than a fun, forgettable B-movie
trifle.
Based on Sandberg’s short (roughly two-minute) film of the
same name, Lights Out is brisk and lean, clocking in at 81
minutes. Including the credits. Moderately enjoyable, the film plays on our
collective inherent fear of the dark by introducing a quivering, J-horror-esque
specter that quite literally dwells in the shadows. It’s an intriguing premise
with some promise. But after an opening scene that will make you want to sleep
with the lights on for a week, the strain of the limited scope and threadbare story
becomes all too apparent.
Rebecca became estranged from her mother after her father
abandoned them and Sophie had a breakdown. Some years later, when Sophie’s new
husband, Martin’s father, is mysteriously killed, she endures a similar episode,
reverting to a manic-depressive state. Only there’s something much more
sinister and terrifying going on tied to her condition.
Palmer is solid and charismatic as the loner who thought she
was going crazy herself all these years. One day she’s going to good role and
surprise the hell out of people, I swear. It just hasn’t happened yet. Bateman
is bland and wooden, but passable as the younger sibling. (He reminds me of a
less capable version of the kid from Jurassic Park.) Bello
is overwrought, asked to do little more than twitch and cry. Still, she imbues
Sophie with the ragged weariness of someone on the edge.
Horror movie tropes abound in Lights Out.
Sandberg hits on everything from the big spooky house to the flickering lights
to the shadowy figure back-lit in a doorway. A few jump scares can be found,
but there’s not much in the way of tension, atmosphere, or innovation—save one
cool sequence that involves muzzle flashes. It even trots out the ubiquitous
mental hospital angle. Light thread and loose connections stich this all together.
Pull at the pieces and the seams and the internal causal logic stretches in an
unflattering way. Nothing unexpected happens, and convenient plot contrivances
show up precisely where convenient plot contrivances always show up.
As vapid and inconsequential as Lights
Out is, it ultimately leaves a bad taste in my mouth with its
dismissive portrayal of mental illness. It’s damn near impossible to discuss
without giving away the ending, but Sophie is bullied and persecuted and
tormented throughout, and the antagonistic elements are a manifestation of
this. The metaphor of clinical depression is transparent and flung about with reckless
abandon. And the way it wraps up is not only cliché, but also flip and trivial,
borderline irresponsible. I’m not sure the film even realizes the message it
imparts.
Lights Out is entertaining enough as a
momentary distraction, but it’s nothing greater than that. The scares are
minimal and modest, but with a with a lean run time, there’s not much fat or
waste. Cookie cutter studio horror, Lights Out is disposable
junk food genre fare. It’s adequate for what it is, it gets the job (mostly)
done, but there’s no staying power and nothing to set it apart. This is good to
occupy and entertain for a brief moment then evaporate into the horror ether.
While that’s fine, that’s all it is. [Grade: C+]
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