Insidious: The Red Door (2023)
If you’ve lost count, Insidious: The Red Door is the fifth entry in the Insidious series. It's a direct sequel to Insidious: Chapter 2, with both Insidious: Chapter 3 and Insidious: The Last Key serving as prequels to 2010’s Insidious. Confused yet? I don’t blame you. The franchise’s tight continuity involves its own mythology on top of some head-warping time-travel elements. It’s been ten years since we last saw the Lamberts. Thankfully, writer Scott Teems reminds you of all the important details but nothing in this entry is groundbreaking, which can easily make it feel like “just another one”.
In 2010, Josh Lambert (Patrick Wilson) and his son Dalton’s memories of The Further are repressed via hypnosis after Josh becomes possessed (see the events of “Insidious: Chapter 2”). Nine years later, Josh is divorced from his wife Renai (Rose Byrne), his mother has passed away and his relationship with Dalton (Ty Simpkins) has become strained. When Dalton rediscovers his astral projection abilities, he risks unleashing a forgotten evil. Meanwhile, his father begins seeing a ghost as well.
I’ve seen all of the Insidious films but have to confess that I don’t remember them all very clearly. I remember some of the monsters we saw along the way, how The Further works and the characters but I get what happened in which film mixed up - probably a symptom of their criss-crossy stories. It’s a good thing the film finds ways to explain it all to you. As Dalton begins college, he makes friends with Chris (Sinclair Daniel, very charming). As his abilities re-emerge, both have to rediscover the rules associated with this series. This may be frustrating for superfans who just want to get right into the terror. They may also be find this new chapter’s lack of innovation disappointing. It’s nice that we find out what happened after the end credits of Chapter 2 but did we REALLY need to? Wasn’t it scarier not knowing? The two movies that followed were more interested in going back rather than going forward - probably because the series killed off Lin Shaye’s Elise Rainier - and with the previous movie being called “The Last Key”, you’d think that meant the whole thing was done, but it isn’t. We get another one and if the post-credit shot (I won’t even call it a stinger) means anything, we’ll probably get a sixth one. It sort of makes you wonder how long it will take before the franchise goes into space.
Those sentiments aside, this is an effective ghost story. The monsters we encounter in “The Further” are frightening and you care about the characters. You’ve known them for so long. You feel bad for Josh. It’s good that he overcame the demonic possession from 2010, but that’s not a happy ending. You want something more, something better. Similarly, you want Dalton to reforge the bond between him and his dad and you’re worried that this ability he’s rediscovered will land him in an even more dangerous situation than before. He’s grown up… but alone. Some great, effective scenes build up the tension as spooky figures slowly get closer and closer to our protagonists. Other threats approach in a less literal way, as Dalton keeps exploring The Further without knowing what that place is actually about. There’s a recurring motif of a painting he’s working on and of a sinister red door. His teacher pushes him to explore the recesses of his soul to create - not knowing this is exactly what the wraiths are hoping for. His memories are slowly returning and as they do, he’s putting the finishing touches on the painting. When you see the whole thing finished, it’s a great reveal and that idea of remembering important details through paint and a brush comes together splendidly at the end in a scene that I found unexpectedly emotional.
As a directorial debut, Patrick Wilson could've done much worse than Insidious: The Red Door, particularly considering his character plays a major role in the film. The movie has some good scares, creepy monsters and the characters - both new and recurring - are likable. I won't call this chapter essential, even for those who've followed this universe since the beginning but if you're interested, I'd say check it out. (September 22, 2023)
3 notes
·
View notes
Calm Before The Storm
There were no more Yellows now. Which as a result meant no more mercy, or grace periods. No one would show kindness anymore, not when the entire world was against you. Allies would only be standing in your way. Hindrances to success.
Scott stood at the diving board, staring out upon the server. He could see everyone beginning to head back to their bases clearly. His fingers itched, the way they always did when he was Red, slowly finding his bow and holding it up. An arrow was nocked, aimed and ready for someone's head. He didn't know whose head. It didn't matter in the end. They were all just heads on bodies waiting to be chopped off.
Shaking himself out of it, he lowered his bow and put the arrow back in its quiver.
Gem was sat on the floor with her sword in her lap. A strand of hair fell over her eyes and she hastily brushed it away. She stared at her reflection in the sword, a frown tugging at her lips, tilting it this way and that presumably to find a noticeable change.
Everyone felt different as a Red.
No one knew how. There were no physical differences to before, no changes in demeanour or personality. A player didn't instantly grow cold and calculated with an intense thirst for blood. The bloodlust was always inside of them. It just never arose as a Green or a Yellow. It simmered in their stomachs on a low heat, only to have the temperature rocket up and the pot overflow, teeming with the urge to kill. The need to have blood on your fingers. To feel the weight of a weapon in your hands, or to hold the lever to set off a TNT trap.
Many tried to look for a difference. It was quite common for players unfamiliar with the game to do so. They always believed there to be something wrong with them physically, and resorted to searching for changes in what little time they had on their hands.
They never found anything, sadly, but no one did.
"Gem," Scott began, walking over to her. She lifted her eyes to his for a moment, then looked back down at her sword. "Gem." he repeated, firmer. She paid him no mind. Apparently a reflection was more important than her teammate.
Impulse stepped out of his house and sat next to Gem. He stretched his arms and placed his palms in the grass, running his hands through the blades. Like many other players, his hands were riddled with scars, burns, blisters and callouses. "What's up?"
"That's the problem," Scott replied. "Nothing. Nothing is happening."
"Isn't that a good thing?" Impulse asked. "I mean, that means we have time to prepare for an attack, or a trap." He nudged Gem with his arm playfully. "Right Gem?"
She didn't respond.
Scott leaned in a little closer and sighed. Her eyes had glazed over. Again.
"Third time today." he grumbled.
Standing up, Impulse bent down to scoop Gem up into his arms and made a start for the gate. He gestured with his head for Scott to follow, and follow he did. He opened the gate for Impulse, and the two of them descended down the stairs and walked past the Secret Keeper statue. The mere sight of it was enough to send shivers down Scott's spine and make him want to run.
They stopped by Cleo's first. Unsurprisingly, Etho was there too.
"What is it?" Cleo asked. She whispered something in Etho's ear and he nodded, scurrying off quickly.
Once his receding footsteps were out of earshot, Scott answered. "It's happening again. I'm gathering some of the players."
She nodded, gradually understanding. "Alright, just give me a moment to grab my things." she disappeared.
Scott stood there, impatiently tapping his foot until Etho arrived with Grian in tow. Both of them were holding bundles of blankets with some snacks thrown in there for good measure. Grian yawned, attempting to rub his eyes.
Cleo reemerged a short while later with more snacks and some water.
The group left and headed towards Pearl's, where Scott broke off from the group to retrieve an additional guest. Before he could even knock on the door, Martyn was outside with all his stuff, a small smile on his face.
"Cleo messaged me," he explained. Scott walked alongside him back to Pearl's, where everyone was sat waiting. Some of them weren't able to join them, so it wasn't quite as full a group as usual, but it was still something.
He took some of the blankets from Martyn and laid them out on the floor. Everyone else did the same, then sat down.
Gem was the last one to sit. Impulse had to guide her to an available spot and gently lower her until she was perched on the edge. Her eyes were still glazed, but a fraction of light and normalcy was returning to them already.
Scott sat down beside Impulse, with Martyn's head in his lap. He absent-mindedly twirled strands of Martyn's hair whilst humming a small tune. He couldn't recall where he'd heard it; perhaps in passing, in the space between the games, or maybe it had been playing when he was in a different server. It sounded similar to a drinking song, so maybe it had been from Pirates.
"Now what?" Grian asked. He perched himself far from the others, but close enough to Cleo and Etho to reach them in case of an unfortunate event. His gaze was on Gem, his eyes narrowing mildly.
Etho chimed in. "We hang out. Eat. Talk. And we wait for Gem to come back."
Cleo nodded in agreement, a small smile curling at her lips. Her hand met Etho's, and their fingers entwined.
---
It took a while for Gem to come back fully. She'd return in brief fits, then leave soon after. It was like flicking a switch on and off repeatedly, only more stressful and each wait seemed to stretch on for eternity.
But once she started to ground herself, it became easier.
Her thoughts were a swirling mass of death, flashes of red every time she shut her eyes. Something was wrong with her. Something had changed, but what? What had changed so drastically about her?
She looked the same. Felt the same. Even tasted the same, which she tested herself (although maybe she did taste different and simply didn't notice.)
But something about her must have been wrong.
She was wrong. A freak. A creature of her own design or maybe someone else's.
Whenever she came to, she was surrounded by people. Impulse's hand on her knee, fingers tapping along to a rhythm. Scott humming a tune, playing with Martyn's hair, his hums occasionally turning into snippets of song lyrics. Cleo and Etho holding hands and smiling, Etho's head on cleo's shoulder, eyes shut in contentment. Grian watching warily. Pearl next to him with a calming hand on his shoulder.
A pang struck her heart when she came to.
They were all here for her. They'd dropped whatever they were doing, for her.
She was important to them.
Gem fell back again into that whirlpool of thoughts. They swirled viciously in her mind, growling and barking and biting like a pack of rabid wolves. Their fur was the colour of blood, and Their eyes were pools of purple. A strange black liquid oozed from Their fangs and dripped onto the ground. They approached from all sides, closing in slowly, leaving Gem less and less time to escape.
Panic bubbled in her chest and she balled the clumps of her shirt in her hands, trying to remember how to breathe.
"You're okay," Impulse's voice whispered in her mind. Was she? She didn't feel like it. "I've got you."
She almost laughed at the thought. He didn't. Not only because she was here and he was out there but also because no one could ever truly have Gem secure in their company. There was always that thin line, that tightrope of danger she was obliged to walk on. One misstep and she fell back into that world of blood, wolves and that rising sense of fear.
"Gem, we're here for you. Take your time." Cleo.
"You've got this," was a half-hearted encouragement from Martyn. He yelped, grumbled under his breath, then hastily added, "I believe in you!"
A hand gently squeezed her kneecap. She saw it, saw the hand, but not the hand at the same time. It flickered in and out of physicality, not wanting to be there for too long. Then it settled into reality with a firm determination.
Something else appeared, too. A shaky apparition, a figure bathed in sunlight. His wings were folded against his back, his red sweater worn and fraying. There was a scar on his temple, and a bruise on his cheek. A second appeared closer to her, gently illuminated by small floating stars, his pointed ears sharp and alert. Then came another, in a cloak of woven moonlight, a toothy smile revealing her elongated canines.
Then finally came one surrounded by a thick outline of red. There was a pendant around his neck of a hand grasping an hourglass.
They all smiled kindly at her, their faces coming into visibility slowly. Everything unnatural about them faded away until they were simply Grian, Scott, Pearl and Martyn, all still in their respective positions.
"Welcome back," Etho greeted.
Scott exhaled in relief, his hand falling to his side. Martyn frowned at its absence, sitting up properly. His hand crept into Scott's lap and rested on his thigh. A grin curled at Scott's lips.
Gem leaned into Impulse. "I'm tired." she whispered, not trusting her voice enough to raise it much more. Still, her words carried across to the others and a blanket was tossed her way. She caught it easily - surprisingly enough, but that must've been a good thing if her reflexes were already coming back - and wrapped it around her shoulders.
"G'night," Martyn said, letting gravity push him backwards. Scott fell with him, letting out a displeased noise when his back hit the ground. "Let's all have a five minute grace period before killing each other, yeah?"
They all mumbled their assent.
Gem and Impulse lay down, close but not touching. She couldn't touch him just yet; her body still didn't quite feel as it should. But when it did, she'd hug him.
Until then, she'd have to rest.
A Red Life was many things; vicious, unforgiving, spiteful, vengeful.
But they were also kind, gentle and merciful when the time called for it.
67 notes
·
View notes
The Fool and the Demon, leaf from a Psalter by the Maître de Jean de Mandeville (France, c 1360), fol. 284
The legend reads: "dixit insipiens in corde suo non est deus" ("the fool says in his heart 'There is no God.'") (Psalm 52)
In a miniature prefacing Psalm 52, the illuminator represents the poem's imagery literally. The "fool" of the text appears here as the lunatic figure familiar during the Middle Ages: shoeless, wearing rags, and carrying a club. He holds an unidentifiable object, perhaps a stone, to his mouth; from this he can draw no nourishment, a visual analogy to the denial of God's existence.
In the medieval period, lunacy was seen as a punishment inflicted by the devil. In the upper right corner of the miniature, a small demon crouches before the swirling gold decorative patterns, either the cause of the fool's lunacy or, perhaps, the agent inspiring the fool's denial.
J Paul Getty Museum, Malibu, California. Ms. 1, v1 (84.MA.40.1)
The fools adorn Psalters, Books of Hours, and romances of the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries. They teem in the initials, miniatures, and illuminated margins of manuscripts. Specific visual features identify the fools as such and describe their nature. With extensive knowledge of ancient, biblical, patristic, and historical sources on madness, dance, and music, with dazing originality, illuminators invested great care in producing these figures of the mundus inversus and in the transmission of the scholar model they personified.
In the medieval literature, madness means nonsense and the insipiens or the fol is consistently defined in relation to wisdom. This madness is twofold, positive and negative, natural and artificial, and concerns both the soul and the body. King David conveys in this literary and iconographic genre visual and moral power to the fool’s figure, who becomes related to music, dance, rhythm, and harmony. Thus the initial letter of Psalm 52 (53) “Dixit insipiens” opposes in new ways the moral virtue of David to the fool’s sin and vice.
The madness of religious inversion is also that of the Fête des Fous. This ritual organized by the Church reverses the church hierarchy, parodies the church service thorugh dances, games, banquets, the Office de l'Âne, and the Évêque des Fous. The figure of the fool is ambiguous also in terms of political power: it can both condemn and authorize inversion and staged disorder.
At the end of the Middle Ages the jesters dance farandoles or the moresca in groups. They also participate in danses macabres. Always ambivalent, they are major figures of court festivities and reveal and relieve through laughter and macabre social tensions and the imagined nature of life and death themselves.
[Robert Scott Horton]
* * * *
“The secret of the successful fool is that he's no fool at all.”
― Isaac Asimov
15 notes
·
View notes