Casual Cogitations

What, exactly, is creepy? Is it the thought of unseen eyes peering at you from a crack in the closet doorway? A nondescript car following languidly behind you on a dark, otherwise deserted road? Is it the far-off sound of a scream, or the too-close-for-comfort whir of a chainsaw? Do you get the horror heebie-jeebies from the very idea of being alone in a lightless, pitch-black environment, or did the hairs always stand up on the nape of your neck when your parents asked you to take something down into the dimly lit world of your cold, clammy basement. Maybe simple stories of missing children, lost loves, or legendary crimes get your gooseflesh good and active, or perhaps you prefer your sense of the sinister on the more vague, ephemeral side.

Whatever the case may be, you will definitely find this eerie emotion present in spine-chilling spades all throughout Silent Hill. In fact, this film is the literal definition of that fear-infused feeling. Everything that creepy is exists inside this amazing, mind-blowing movie. Who cares if it's based on something as cinematically sacrilegious as a video game? This is one of the best post-modern horror films ever made—and an incredibly effective creepfest to boot.

Make no mistake about it, Silent Hill is sensational. It's the movie The Cell wanted to be, and the video game adaptation that best recreates what such entertainment experiences effortlessly manage—that is, luring you into an unknown world and experiencing the suspense and the dread of discovering it along with the keypad-manipulated characters. In fact, it is probably good to be unfamiliar with the long-running series from Japanese manufacturer Konami. Otherwise, you will waste valuable disbelief suspension in a seemingly endless attempt to pick out all the changes—both major and minor—that have been made to the game's narrative. It's safe to say that Silent Hill is as similar to the spooky storylines it is based on as it is different. If you're curious about the modifications, surf the 'net for a few minutes. You'll come up with a far more comprehensive list than this reviewer could ever provide. If you're more interested, however, in what a sensational piece of Gothic, Grand Guignol grandstanding this movie is, how it overflows with imagination, creepiness, and invention, then read on. It is here where you will learn how a French filmmaker took a top Asian title and transformed it into one of the darkest, most delightful horror experiences in a very long time.

Christophe Gans, in only his fourth major film, suddenly steps up in the ranks of the masters of motion picture macabre with a movie that is dripping with dread, overflowing with atmosphere, and so flagrant in its fear factors that you can't help but feel the narrative slowly start sinking under your skin. From the opening sequence, where Sharon, our little girl lost, is poised on the edge of a vertigo-inspiring ledge, to her mother Rose's first steps into the ghost town of the title, we realize we are in the hands of a true cinematic visionary. Very few modern filmmakers strive for distinction in style or subjectivity. They would rather borrow from established auteurs or do the journeyman routine for the sake of a paycheck. Not Gans. He's all about the imagery, the tactile way his buildings look, the nauseating way his demonic monsters appear…and move. Using cues both old-fashioned (churches as bastions of faith, and fallen evil) and post-modern (the civil defense-style siren that warns of the impending "darkness"), he is a filmmaker who is determined to chill us to our very marrow. Pulling out all the stops, then adding a few more that he's saved especially for such an occasion, he proves that 2001's cult hit The Brotherhood of the Wolf was no fluke. In fact, Silent Hill is so amazing, it nearly wipes out all memory of that past genre-bending epic.

Naturally, a movie like this can't get by on ideas alone. We need a script we can champion while it continually challenges us with clearly-defined characters that are easy to identify with. Thanks to Oscar winner Roger Avary, Silent Hill is not just some sloppy collection of recognizable moments from your Sony Playstation. Instead, it's a dense, deceptive little thriller with enough mood and menace to fill a dozen derivative horror films. As a matter of fact, this is more of a waking nightmare than an actual attempt at creating a creature feature. Sure, the Silent Hill canon of terrifying creations is present (Pyramid Head, the Nurses), but because of how Avary sets up the situations, we never once doubt their existence—or their horrifying intent. Similarly, the backstory set up for Sharon and Rose (sleepwalking child, adopted under questionable, unclear circumstances) instantly draws us in. All Avary has to do is create some memorable dialogue and a few fascinating action scenes, then let Gans do the rest. Luckily, this pairing works out perfectly, leaving little room for anything other than abject terror and a decidedly unsettled aura. From Rose's first run-in with the darkness (complete with a claustrophobic corridor, a single flame, and a horde of hideous beasties) to the surreal sturm-and-drang finale, we are truly in awe of the combination of plot and pictures.

In addition, we are treated to acting that is never cheap, never over the top, and never obvious for the sake of some camp or kitsch effect. While Sean Bean has very little to do as the outsider who views Silent Hill as the deserted burg everyone believes it is, he still manages to make us understand Christopher's familial concerns. Similarly, Kim Coates is a cop keeping a lot of secrets, only to be shuttled off screen a little too soon. Obviously, Gans believes that this is a woman's picture—not a chick flick, this is a chance for a strong female perspective on things usually relegated to men. As a result, we need ladies in the leading roles, and Gans comes up with a collection of magnificent performers. As our mother in distress, Radha Mitchell never missteps, even once. She is the perfect combination of fear and determination, drawing on bravery previously unknown inside herself to rescue her languishing little girl. As Sharon, genre fixture Jodelle Ferland is equally adept at moving from innocent to wicked as the scene requires. In the background is Laurie Holden, as tough-as-nails patrol officer Cybil Bennett. She's the other audience inroad into the story, the skeptical non-believer who eventually comes around to Silent Hill's numerous horrors. Along with Alice Krige doing another top-notch psycho turn and Deborah Kara Unger as a figure important to both the town and to Sharon, we end up with an ensemble that emphasizes the uncomfortable nature of the narrative.

But the final facet that really propels this entire project into the realm of a near-masterpiece is the fantastic, fatalistic art direction and effects. The work of a myriad of incredibly gifted craftsmen, the monsters, the entities, and the domain in which they dwell are rendered so faultlessly, from their inhuman elements to their slick CGI gloss (the moments when the "darkness" takes over, with its dripping walls and disintegrating fixtures are fascinating to watch) that they take on a life all their own. When we glimpse Pyramid Man dragging his massive blade toward our heroines, or when the nurses stand poised to slice and dice with their handy razors and knives, the level of dismay is almost indefinable. When we hear the plaintive wail of the warning siren, we stiffen in our chair, wondering what horrifying images we will be bombarded with next. Yes, there is blood. Indeed, there is gruesomeness. Still, the visions in Silent Hill do more than stimulate your gore-related gag reflex. They tickle parts of the brain that post-modern horror has long since stopped trying to excite.

As much as a feast for the eyes as a twist to the mind, Silent Hill stands alone as one of the best, most visually arresting fright flicks in a very long time. Certainly there will be those who scoff at such suggestions, taking umbrage with any claims that the film is anything other than an ineffective piece of eye candy. There will be others who argue for the video game's ability to inspire fear over the Hollywood bastardization of a favored title. The truth is that Silent Hill tells a deceptively simple story, realizes it exceptionally well, and has stellar acting and effects in case a backup is needed for some narrative clarity. Sure, the conclusion is open ended, never quite clear in what it means to the characters or the situation we've just witnessed, and the fact of the matter is that the whole set up in Silent Hill has an expositional familiarity that we feel we've witnessed before (without spoilers, it's the religious fanatics as evil entities paradigm at work). Still, with someone as gifted as Gans behind the lens and a wealth of genius craftsmen in front of it, it is hard to deny the movie's many jaundiced joys. Consider it an allegory on death and dying or a straight-ahead, magnificently realized monster movie, but Silent Hill is not some sloppy tie-in to a well-known video amusement. Years from now, when the games are gone, it will live on as an example of brilliant filmmaking done with expertise and proficiency. Forget what you've read elsewhere—this is one wicked delight that deserves to be seen.