First things first: shout out to Miss Stacie Ponder, once more hosting Film Club Day at her blog, Final Girl. Be sure to stop by and read how other horror hounds are reacting to Frozen. – ML
Adam Green’s Frozen is the kind of movie that makes you want to call everyone you’ve ever cared about just to hear that they’re ok.
It’s a tough, loud, horrific film (the kind of movie that theaters were built for: this thing deserves to be spread up over a large screen, sound kicked all the way up), but it’s as Claude Debussy said: “music is the space between the notes”.
And when Frozen isn’t devoted explicitly to eye-clawing suspense, it really sings. The quiet, not quite broken voices of a trio of human beings fondly recalling the best bits of their lives.
The action of the film hinges on three friends (played expertly by Emma Bell, Kevin Zegers, and Shawn Ashmore) getting stuck on a ski-lift on their way up the slopes for one last run-down the mountain.
You’re convinced that their getting stuck alone is a possibility; worse, you’re convinced that the management of this place would shut down the entire skiing operation for the night while our protagonists are left to rock back and forth in the wind, hundreds of feet in the air.
There’s a horrible, sinking feeling in your gut as every light on the mountain is extinguished, and you’ll remember that the man running the ski lift said the weather was supposed to get bad.
To give away anything else would be criminal.
Just know that director/writer Green wrings the concept for all it’s worth. It’s reminiscent of Alfred Hitchcock’s Lifeboat, or Chris Kentis’ Open Water, but Green also pumps the formula with the tempo of a slasher film.
It’s also strangely tender, possibly even romantic: the close, claustrophobic warmth of a handful of people suspended over the dark abyss of death fantasy. The closer that flame gets, the more they sweat regret, longing for more time, longing to fly: it’s a beauty of contradictions, the kind of mini-miracle afforded the immediacy of a pressure-cooker.
Green proves he’s a humanist, and in doing so, he’s made the ultimate defense for the schlocky horror formula that he and so many others clearly love (including yours truly): from the sick mind behind Hatchet comes this valentine to the little moments that make life worth living.
It’s a lonely, trembling eulogy to a wilting past; it’s also (easily) one of the more unsettling movies of 2010.
True too, it’s been catching flack from the serious minded who demand realism in their movies: again, I’d argue physical realism isn’t necessarily what’s most important to the horror genre. It’s the explication of dark fantasy and death dreams.
This one’s the fantasy/nightmare of a roller coaster snapping apart at the height of its climb; of pressing your head against the passenger window of an airplane and accidentally tumbling out; of being stuck in a ski lift at night during a violent winter storm.
(Maybe this all works better for those of us with fears of heights…)
Frozen is both an exploration of, and (in its own masochistic way) a celebration of human fragility, by way of frosty nightmares.
A movie about three people trapped in the air wouldn’t be much of anything if the cast wasn’t up to snuff. Luckily, Emma Bell, Kevin Zegers, and Shawn Ashmore are excellent. You believe them. It’s not so much that they’re crafting characters out of nothing: they are literally embodying any young adults. You know these people, and so do I.
But they don’t break it when the shit hits the fan, not for a moment. Maybe that’s what makes all of this so troubling; because the actors so convincingly act like people I feel as though I know, it’s especially traumatic to watch them go through hell.
And if that part about the puppy doesn’t make you feel like crying your eyes out, I don’t know what to do for you.
It’s a Dear John to adolescence. It’s going to haunt me for the rest of the day, and that’s saying something.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go call my girlfriend.
Frozen
When It's This Cold, It's Useless To Cry
By Michael L
First things first: shout out to Miss Stacie Ponder, once more hosting Film Club Day at her blog, Final Girl. Be sure to stop by and read how other horror hounds are reacting to Frozen. – ML
Adam Green’s Frozen is the kind of movie that makes you want to call everyone you’ve ever cared about just to hear that they’re ok.
It’s a tough, loud, horrific film (the kind of movie that theaters were built for: this thing deserves to be spread up over a large screen, sound kicked all the way up), but it’s as Claude Debussy said: “music is the space between the notes”.
And when Frozen isn’t devoted explicitly to eye-clawing suspense, it really sings. The quiet, not quite broken voices of a trio of human beings fondly recalling the best bits of their lives.
The action of the film hinges on three friends (played expertly by Emma Bell, Kevin Zegers, and Shawn Ashmore) getting stuck on a ski-lift on their way up the slopes for one last run-down the mountain.
You’re convinced that their getting stuck alone is a possibility; worse, you’re convinced that the management of this place would shut down the entire skiing operation for the night while our protagonists are left to rock back and forth in the wind, hundreds of feet in the air.
There’s a horrible, sinking feeling in your gut as every light on the mountain is extinguished, and you’ll remember that the man running the ski lift said the weather was supposed to get bad.
To give away anything else would be criminal.
Just know that director/writer Green wrings the concept for all it’s worth. It’s reminiscent of Alfred Hitchcock’s Lifeboat, or Chris Kentis’ Open Water, but Green also pumps the formula with the tempo of a slasher film.
It’s also strangely tender, possibly even romantic: the close, claustrophobic warmth of a handful of people suspended over the dark abyss of death fantasy. The closer that flame gets, the more they sweat regret, longing for more time, longing to fly: it’s a beauty of contradictions, the kind of mini-miracle afforded the immediacy of a pressure-cooker.
Green proves he’s a humanist, and in doing so, he’s made the ultimate defense for the schlocky horror formula that he and so many others clearly love (including yours truly): from the sick mind behind Hatchet comes this valentine to the little moments that make life worth living.
It’s a lonely, trembling eulogy to a wilting past; it’s also (easily) one of the more unsettling movies of 2010.
True too, it’s been catching flack from the serious minded who demand realism in their movies: again, I’d argue physical realism isn’t necessarily what’s most important to the horror genre. It’s the explication of dark fantasy and death dreams.
This one’s the fantasy/nightmare of a roller coaster snapping apart at the height of its climb; of pressing your head against the passenger window of an airplane and accidentally tumbling out; of being stuck in a ski lift at night during a violent winter storm.
(Maybe this all works better for those of us with fears of heights…)
Frozen is both an exploration of, and (in its own masochistic way) a celebration of human fragility, by way of frosty nightmares.
A movie about three people trapped in the air wouldn’t be much of anything if the cast wasn’t up to snuff. Luckily, Emma Bell, Kevin Zegers, and Shawn Ashmore are excellent. You believe them. It’s not so much that they’re crafting characters out of nothing: they are literally embodying any young adults. You know these people, and so do I.
But they don’t break it when the shit hits the fan, not for a moment. Maybe that’s what makes all of this so troubling; because the actors so convincingly act like people I feel as though I know, it’s especially traumatic to watch them go through hell.
And if that part about the puppy doesn’t make you feel like crying your eyes out, I don’t know what to do for you.
It’s a Dear John to adolescence. It’s going to haunt me for the rest of the day, and that’s saying something.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go call my girlfriend.
4.5 stars
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