REC2

Having viewed and reviewed REC, this review would fittingly build on the questions asked in the former--the question on intent.

Seeing REC2 as the expansion of the narrative of REC, the question on intention of the film makers regarding the initial stated explanation of the virus as that which caused demonic possession or symptoms therefore was answered with a big fat 'YES' which is both a good thing and a bad thing in my opinion. The YES answer is a bad thing in that this would make the premise crumble in the face of facts in our world (beyond the world of the narrative) and would make the leap in logic fall apart. The good thing about this answer though is that finally the noted ambivalence and ambiguity observed in the first film (is it that we have science to explain the religious or the religious to guide us as we wade through the possibilities of science?) is answered--that they have chosen the route of science explaining away the religious by affirming the initial explanation of demonic possession as some strain or virus in the human DNA.

The choice finally gives the film a strong footing, strong enough to entertain the fancies of those who felt the first left the religious part of the phenomenon too much in favor of their scientific inclination with the inclusion of a new central protagonist, the priest disguised as a medical rescue doctor, exploring the religious implications of the outbreak. Noted in this success is the mindblowing scene of having the priest demonstrate the spiritual nature of the virus by pointing a crucifix directly in close proximity to an infected blood sample on a petri dish which causes the liquid to boil in reswponse to the presence of the holy icon and finally burst into wild flames. In that brief scene the film succeeds to appease the audience that felt left out in th first film and was able to further nuance the problem--that although it is established in the narrative that the scientific nature of the problem exists, the spiritual aspect of the phenomenon is still central, making a cool mix, this time a welcome compromise of the two questions.

Compared to the first film, REC2 is such a success both as a rare example of a sequel that beats out the greatness (I hesitate to use the word awesomeness) of the first and as an individual film that stands alone with a much more solid narrative that provides a spiritually and scientifically sound theme.

If REC2 is a sign of how further sequels to the REC story will get better and better, then I cannot wait for the final two films that will serve as both prequel and final sequel to the mythology of REC!

REC

The Spanish horror film REC is indeed a great example of that rare horror film that sweeps the audience up in adrenaline, the thrill and the chills bordering those of action flicks. Perhaps it is indeed this strong element of kinesis that makes REC a great movie, an urgency brought about by the constant movement with barely moments to stop and ponder until the next big one hits. If films were park rides, then REC would be the perfect roller coaster, dipping and turning you over 360 with only a few seconds to resettle your guts back into place before getting driven into another loop.


Beyond the great ride and experience, what is most attractive in REC is what lies at its core--a reflection of a society at a crossroads of choosing between making sense of traditional faith in terms of modern science and navigating modern dilemmas (brought on by science and technology) guided by faith. It is this core that is most interesting, this ambivalence that pervades the narrative that is neither one that sees faith in the eye nor science in its pure cold objectivity and is present in modern-day Spain. Filipino viewers can identify with this issue, not because we put ourselves to the standard of modern Spanish living--a level of modernity the Philippines has yet to arrive at--but we share (indeed we owe it to them) the same deep entrenchment of faith in every aspect of society. Thinking back, it is precisely this ambivalence, this perceived hesitation in choosing which road to take that both drew me in while watching the film and later made me feel quite distant, in that I dislike this move that plays too safely. I thought it was a cheap trick to try to explain away the phenomenon of demon possession as a strain of mutation in the human DNA that could be isolated and cured by modern science, one that does not stand up to logic as previous exorcisms have involved the non-possessed being bitten (or some other way by which body liquids could be transmitted to another) and yet without the news of contamination or the "virus" of possession spreading. This gap in logic, which can never be determined as intended or unintended by the filmmakers unless we get a statement from them, leaves room for the ponderer who watches the film and thinks over the points raised after to consider the 'falseness' or 'wrong' of the first explanation provided--that the spreading virus is one that concerns demon possession. Since previous established exorcisms did not yield a possession that was infectional, then the virus in the film could possibly be wrongly identified as that strain that causes the phenomenon of demon possession, or rather, the effects of demon possession as experienced and manifested by an individual. (Of course, this ambivalence would be answered in the sequel REC2 when they do establish that indeed the virus spreading in the building and its inhabitants is one that is concerned with demonic possession.)

This nuanced consideration though should definitely not take away from the fun that is viewing REC!

The Descent

The Descent is wonderful adventure film akeen to the likes of REC and Splinter whose initial draw is in its action-packed narrative that borders on horror with horrifying situations and elements interspersed. This quality is what made me doubt The Descent's inclusion into the catalogue of films shown in class initially, a doubt which I have in time come to terms with upon reflecting on the images presented in the film.
The Descent's portrayal of abjection, from bat poop to a gigantic pool of blood and creature feces, certainly identify it to the horror genre together with the inclusion of humanoid creatures the protagonists stumble upon deep in the cave system. Above these categories however, the remarkable way by which The Descent is a horror film is the source from which the horror and dread comes from--the tension of relations between the completely human and normal female protagonists. The true horror of the film is the raw presentation of the breakdown of a tight group's friendship strained externally by their stressful, dangerous, and hopeless circumstance but more so internally by what each harbors against another in the form of secrets, frustrations, etc. Beyond the lasting images of those horrible cave-dwelling creatures captured on camera by night vision and that one particular shot of one of them actually mounting the main protagonist who remains motionless and calm to ward it off, the most effective and perhaps the most significant horror the film delivers comes in the decision and action of the same main protagonist when finally confronting her former friend whom she discovers had accidentally killed one of their buddies in the cave and have been fooling around with her newly departed husband. In that climactic exchange of words in a flurry as sounds of the creatures draw louder and nearer where they stand, the main protagonist raises her pick-axe and stabs her double-crossing, friend-killing, husband-robbing companion with it. Just the finality, decisiveness, and satisfaction the act brings to the main protagonist is haunting as she leaves her Lara Croft-esque companion behind with a gut-churning smile on her face to offer up to the mercy of the creatures.

The Descent is in one helluva film a creature feature, a feminist approach at portraying the dynamics and complexities of relationships between women, and an action-adventure survival horror flick that satisfies, even with its future-bleak not-so-happy twist ending.

Wishing Corridors 4 - Voice

Voice is an interesting film in the Whispering Corridors film series. Much like every other Korean horror film, it has the trademark "struggling to remember" central plot but unlike the others in the series feels more like an atmospheric memory tragedy dotted with thrilling/suspenseful interludes rather than a true blooded horror flick revolving around a central tragedy. This does not diminish the film's charm or power though as the shift in focus and weight is refreshing given the material and narrative was ably executed and given justice.


The film's portrayal of female relationships offer an interesting nuanced view--one of dependence, obsession, love, lust, mentorship, and manipulation. Some of them might have feminists airing objections over portraying traditional malevolent stereotypes of women-in-power such as the female student using her body/charm as currency to manipulate a professor (albeit also female), the obsessed lover (ala Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction), or the overdependent friend. The redeeming part in these portrayals is the complexity in which they are shown, often juxtaposing two traits in one character (the overdependent friend is actually the manipulative student, etc), giving room for the recognition of the complexity of the woman character.

A really good metaphor utilized in the film is the assertion that memory is connected with the voice, in that the more one forgets, the more one silences that which is gradually forgotten. This metaphor is quite powerful, interesting most especially to me as my thesis for the semester is that of historical revisionism and how the willful revision and forgetting of the truth of the past effectively silences the voices of the victims.

Of the films in the Whispering Corridors series, this is a decent entry though not my favorite (it still is the second film--Memento Mori). It manages to provide glimpses into the complexities of its female characters but never quite pushes the envelope enough, leaving you with the feeling that it could've gone deeper and more into areas in the premise left unexplored by the film.

A Tale of Two Sisters

Another South Korean horror film, A Tale of Two Sisters follows the general trend of K-Horror of incorporating the undying memory tragedy. Having seen this film when it came out theatrically in the country (I was so young back then and did not fully understand the nuances and complexities in the plot), viewing it in class again after so many years brought back not only fond memories of seeing it with my father in one of our movie night-outs but also gave me an opportunity to revisit and reassess it.


A Tale of Two Sisters is traditional Korean horror in the sense that it follows and exhibits the greater trend of having a protagonist forget what has happened only to remember it in the climax or resolution of the film but is also refreshing in that it highlights and reveals a nuanced glimpse at contemporary family politics and relations in South Korea. The film being based on old South Korean folklore, the film offers an interesting update where the stock character of the stepmother is followed only to be taken apart in the end with the revelation that all has been in the protagonist's mind. The narrative framing devices compensate for this adherence to South Korean formula and the journey from introduction to exposition to realization to close is made spellbinding by the dynamics of the relationships presented and the tensions that arise from them.

At the heart of the film is an honest portrait of a crumbling family structure who in the face of change gives way to differences. The destruction of established roles of family members and the constant transgression of one character stepping into the roles of another (as revealed later, that the daughter thinks herself to be the stepmother and fashions herself a reanimation of her sister) highlight the horror of the film. Other details presented in the subjectivity of characters' perceptions are left ambiguous enough for the successful and satisfactory final unraveling of truth.

A film that goes under and then beyond the confines of the tradition from which it takes root, A Tale of Two Sisters is a horror film worthy of the critical praise it has been overwhelmingly met with.

Suicide Circle

What the?!?


The thought that book-ended my viewing experience of Suicide Circle.

From the onset, I realized Suicide Circle was a narrative that should not be taken on face value, one that invited pondering, contemplation, reflection, promising a little gem of existential insight, but boy was I wrong. Suicide Circle's episodic and barely coherent narrative presents a style that says quite clearly: "I am a film that wishes you to think! Think about what I have to say! Do not settle for what I show you!" ... but it is precisely this that gets in the way.

For a film to knowingly employ such a style of presentation presupposes that it has a message, a core truth that upon rigorous reflection of the viewer the film will finally award. So it is exactly this spark of truth, this promised insight, that I was aiming for, rather more aptly wading thick contemplating waters for, but alas it was nowhere to be found.

The film aims its message gun at so many targets--the ever-increasing postmodern dilemma of the isolation of man in a sea of men, the lost connection between man and himself, and the presentation of a source most unlikely for wisdom and insight. It aims at them and so many more, pulls the trigger, has bullets flying towards them, only to have them all lose momentum halfway to the target board, falling sadly to the ground after letting gravity pull it down. I personally believe this is what happened with Suicide Circle. It was so promising in that the film was able to lightly touch upon those subjects through the introduction of numerous characters (who in themselves cannot be considered protagonists for the very lack of antagonists in the film, quite postmodern eh?), making the audience anticipate how all these will come together to pull out one giant truth, or, in the least, nuggets of truths. What is served up finally, after the credits roll and the ridiculous J-pop song performed by those ominous children on television, is a big smoking bowl of nothing. Absolutely nothing!

Now some have opined that this nothing, this non-message, is precisely what the film intended, to think for thinking's sake. I find this explanation probable but problematic in that to think for thinking's sake or to do things at all just for the sake of doing them is rather masturbatory in nature, a pattern I am personally wary of because of the lack of direction another activity could have yeilded. To be assaulted by those images, haunted by those ambiguous plot ends, and yet end up with nothing is a waste of time. To have been forced to move only to find out in the end that you haven't moved at all is simply absurd--a thought I find usually accompanying other postmodern films (or films that are feigning to be postmodern).

Splinter

Ouch!, said the porcupine.


Splinter is the kind of fun movie I'd love to watch on those times that my mind is just asking to be retired for a little while, an entertaining no-brainer. The narrative is quite simple, without the fragmented complexities of Japanese horror films or the non-sequential psychadelic feel of Korean horror, this is American horror entertainment in its purest form. The beauty and affect of spectacle!

Perhaps it was because of this level of non-expectation that I was able to find the film entertaining. I had no prior idea of what the film was about. I haven't heard of any buzz about the film or even any critical reviews, so my experience with it was perhaps one of the few purest ones I've had with viewing a film. Amazing really what being left with only you and the film, without all the other what-he-said or what-they-thought to mess up and color the whole journey, would do to your appreciation of a film.

If I had known what kind of film would be shown in class when we watched Splinter, I would've decided the minute I enetered the CSR that my time would be wasted, that this shallow American gore spectacle would be one of the worst shown in class. Surprisingly though, it wasn't. For a rare moment, as I watched the events unfold in the film and bear witness as the body count rise (rather, the halved body-count rise) I actually understood why American audiences loved gore. (This realization of course would both be reinforced and questioned by the later gorier film The Midnight Meat Train.) I felt the sheer fun of seeing a body torn in half, of that half being integrated to another (rather similar to a lego man-figure being torn apart to switch pants/tops/heads/hands with another lego man-figure), and the newly formed creature going on to search for more parts to absorb. In hindsight, it was my mind being caught unaware, without the shield of automatic critical analysis and nuancing in my head, that I was opened up to this new revelatory experience.

If I will pursue this newfound interest in gore-filled horror is one that I have yet to decide on, but at least now the 'yes' is a possibility.

Pontypool

Pontypool is perhaps the most intellectually-stimulating horror film I have seen. Actually, so far, the only one at that, since Suicide Circle promised to be one but dismally failed (see review for Suicide Circle for further explanation of my general dislike and distaste for its non-message).


At first I had problems accepting the premise of Pontypool's language virus because of the objections I had, especially with the virus singling out the English language as the mode of transmission, because dynamics-wise this would presuppose that the English language exists with special codes unique only to itself to effectively foster and contain the virus considering the formation and evolution of languages (shared origins aka etymologies with other languages). This main premise was the obstacle between me and my enjoyment and total surrender to the experience of the film. This objection to the premise from the argument of the nature of the English language was quelled with a brief conversation with Sir Andrew, who happens to sit a few chairs from my seat in class, halfway through the film, with him mentioning the fact that the spread may be accounted for considering that language is unique in its particularity in terms context, allowing for the virus to spread via the English language of that particular context (historical and geographical) accounting for the specificity that the virus spread and its isolation. Getting this initial objection aside, I opened myself up to the intellectual insights the film offered.

Of all the insights the film shared, one that would stick most and I would find contributing to the factor that made the film one of my all-time horror favorites now is the insight on meaning and meaning-decoding of language. The intriguing situation of having to decode words of their meaning and encoding this meaning into another in hopes of (for the film narrative, cure the language and the patient of the virus) getting into the essence of the object mediated by the word is promising, posing questions as to whether our understanding of the world and its essence (similarly of the things in this world, tangible or abstarct, and their essences) is marred by our overdependence on the words or the language that mediates them for us, having the words/language finally taking on more significance than the actual object itself. The considerations and possibilities transported me back to the joys of my past Intro to Communication and Intro to Media Studies classes.

For this and a gamut of other reasons, I consider Pontypool as one of the best, if not the best, horror film shown in my Horror film class!

Midnight Meat Train

Having downloaded the film The Midnight Meat Train and having it in my iPod for the longest time now with me yet to watch it, the announcement of its screening came as a disappointment to me as I would have wasted downloading the film and not having watched it months after only to have it in class for a screening. The reason I downloaded it was, to be honest, the fact that Brooke Shields was in it (albeit in a minor role) and that it was a horror film that apparently garnered positive praise from critics around the time of its release. I guess I should mention that I've had a crush on her since seeing her in The Blue Lagoon (which is also in my iPod) two years ago.


The Midnight Meat Train is perhaps a very good example of gore-fixated Hollywood. Having previously seen Splinter and The Descent in class should have made me a lot tougher and more immune to the images in the film but The Midnight Meat Train managed still to relentlessly induce cringes and suppressed cries of disgust in me. It should be apparent by now that despite being an avid fan of horror films, I am not a follower of gore horror and that my views on gore-filled horror films are quite below approval and borders on the wish of not having the genre and the style in existence at all. I guess I believe that the Beast Within explanation to the Why Horror? question that so devalues the horror fan and man in general is merely strengthened and reinforced by this particular subgenre of the horror film.

Having these thoughts and protestations up in the air, it is imaginable that I did not enjoy the climax of the film, set in a segment of the subway train lined with freshly cut and butchered corpses lining both sides of the lane plus the final scene of battle with the (thankfully!) darkly lit dead end of an underground lair (?). I still do not find the logic in seeing teeth pulled out and guts spewing out of upside down corpses hanging by hooks plunged deep into each ankle so explicitly shown and captured on film shown with the intent to elicit horror, when all it does is draw disgust.

The Midnight Meat Train isn't all bad when considered apart from the scenes of excessive gore. (Imagining the gore out is a hard hard thing to do!) The commentary it offers on the primal human instinct of curiosity and concern is both biting and insightful--one can act out of curiosity but to commit to the act is born more of true found concern guarding against the evil that has been found. Plus seeing Brooke Shields even in her few scenes was reward enough!

If this review does not offer much insight into the concepts raised in the film, it is precisely because I still have yet to get over the gore in it. Perhaps in the future when I have grown fully immune to it and I revisit the film will I finally be able to see some sort of good hidden underneath piles and piles of decaying human mass and the sickening aroma of still beating body organs.

May

May is a darkly comic modern fairytale centered on an outcast whose interests, bordering on the macabre (human anatomy and dismemberment), later becomes her ticket out of isolation and into the warm embrace of created companionship. In a film whose protagonist is one that would both disgust and garner sympathy from audiences, it is a success in exploring the Other and how, in its pursuit to become one with the One (the standard of society) is pushed to the edge of its Otherness, further reinforcing and molding itself to the claims of Otherness put on it by greater society.


It was just a painful but necessary experience to witness May, a self-affirmed introvert, attempt to get out of her shell and expose herself to the people around her, trying to ply her away from the confines of her comfort zone, only to break her heart in the end, to fully sympathize with the tragedy of her character, indeed without which we would merely laugh at her awkward behavior and would definitely judge her without batting an eye when she finally commits her great creative (in both senses of the term--creative as both aesthetically genius and formative) act of abjection.

May's killing spree of selective abjection (yup, she is one picky Frankenstein, this one) is carried out not because of a God-complex (as in Dr. Frankenstein's original motive behind "It's Alive!") but because of a deepset yearning for companionship, to end an isolation both self-imposed and asked of her by society. This difference in intent updates the original tale of the modern prometheus from the cautionary tale of man playing God to the postmodern dilemma of fragmentation and excessive individualism (one that is both internalized and imposed).

Let The Right One In

Let The Right One In is one of my favorite picks from the horror films shown in class (the other two being Pontypool and The Orphanage). Not having expected it to be so good and be quite as unforgettable now while viewing the first few minutes of the film, Let The Right One In has taught me that good films come even from the most unlikely sources (in this case, Sweden, a country whose cinemtic culture and trends I barely know of).


The horror in Let The Right One In is expertly woven into the romance budding in the two young protagonists of the film (I think I like it precisely because it mixes horror successfully and seamlessly with another genre). This horror comes primarily from the fact that one is a vampire, but aside from this basic premise, the more horrific aspect of the narrative comes in the finale when the bullying experienced by the main child protagonist comes to its most brutal, most inhuman point. Perhaps scarier (weird, of all the reviews I've written so far, this is the first time the word "scare" has finally surfaced) than the situation of bullying is the attitude of acceptance with which the child responds to it, calmly letting the bad ass bully grab his hair and drown him without any protest. It is striking that of all the horrifying moments shown in the film, this is the most terrifying for me, making me appreciate it all the more, as horror is finally tracked down to its most fundamental of sources--the horror of human evil.

Notable also in the film is its approach to adapting the source novel. I realize this after reading up on both the film and the novel and seeing that the film took care to be ambiguous enough to allow for the unsavory details found in the novel to still be presented as possibilites in the film instead of either showing them directly (and thus alienating mainstream audiences witht he controversial content--the homosexual nature of the relationship between the two children and the fact that the child vampire's companion is in truth a pedophile waiting on the opportunity when he will finally be granted sexual favors by the child) or ruling them out altogether. This wise creative decision makes the experience of viewing the film as text and adapted text in relation to source texts much more fulfilling, rewarding more layers of understanding as one gets deeper into the mythology of the story. This boldness to leave out these things ambiguous cast a shadow on the upcoming American remake which reportedly took out all these unpleasant details to settle for an adaptation that might simplify the story, leaving no room for intertextual referencing and coloring.

Ginger Snaps

Aw-woooooooo! Aw-woooooooo!


Ginger Snaps is just a fun little nifty treasure of a film. I first heard of this film when I looked up "Katharine Isabelle", the protagonist later antagonist Ginger, on Wikipedia following her performance from a laughable rom-com film entitled Another Cinderella Story. I had developed a little crush on her and was pleasantly surprised we were going to watch Ginger Snaps in class so that I wouldn't need to download the film on torrent (though given how much I enjoyed it, and to see her again, I'm downloading the trilogy now).

I write this review with apprehension and with the utmost care because of the fact that I have to write both of my crush on Katharine Isabelle and the topic of the ultimate female abjection--menstruation--on the same page. Somehow, it just doesn't seem right to me. (Come to think about it, menstruation never was and is a sexy topic for guys. It's just plain disgusting. A fact I'd rather not know and could probably have lived through life without knowing.)

This coming-of-age werewolf story (I Was a Teenage Werewolf, anyone?) brilliantly juxtaposes the metamorphosis of puberty with the gradual transformation of Ginger to a werewolf. An interesting pair, female abjection meeting supernatural injection, the tension of growing up with these two forces provides for a situation wherein each one enhances the other. It is precisely in this mixing of these two changes that I feel most uncomfortable in that I found, though this I know not if from merely personal repressed perversion or is one that is shared by other male viewers, that the most attractive moment of Ginger's growth as a pubescent character was when she first manifested fangs and darkly more emphasized eyes from lycanthropy and had the confidence brought about by the hormonal charges of puberty. For some reason, the moment her character showing the changes for the first time when she walked through the school hall was just the epitome of her attraction. This leads me to reflect on whether the attraction arises from the normal change brought about by her changing pubescent body or the supernaturally (other) lycanthropic changes she starts to show, and whether the changes were intentionally made to be more pleasing/titillating, because if it were intended then the pleasantness of the sight of her changing under both conditions were written off as coming from within her character but if it was not in the filmmaker's intention and indeed the attraction is merely from the viewers making, then this leads to the consideration of the male perception of what is attractive for the female body (in this case, the female body is not enough, a certain danger, an external force that is beyond and other than the woman's being is necessary in making her more attractive)and its implications (picking up from case in point, that woman in herself is still deemed lacking, a fact that should not be by now). A question I am still at a loss with answers.

Grace

Holy Mother of...


Grace is an expertly weaved film that incorporates horrific imagery with updates to a familiar setting, a mother raising a monster of an offspring despite all odds (remember Rosemary's Baby?). The film ups the demon child formula by focusing not on the monster but on the monstrosity that the mother puts herself through and eventually commits herself to sustain her child.

The film in itself is a great ride! The horror springs not from the usual Hollywood shock factor but instead on the lingering images of pure horror--the mother squeezing blood from choice cuts bought from the grocery into a milk bottle, slitting up an unexpected victim's wrist to harvest food for her child, and the painful and disgusting image of the grandmother fancying herself lactating (yup, both the scene where she stands in front of a mirror pumping her breasts for milk, and that unforgettable scene of making her husband suckle her). The genius use of horrifying situations and images for the horror of the film mark a refreshing turning back from Hollywood formula of gore and cheap shocks and a gloriuos (this I use because I do have a bias for classic horror) return to what truly was and is horror in essence.

A thorn to my enjoying this film fully is the fact that the monstrosity and the horror that the mother experiences and makes is sold/projected as products of such a great love, a concept that is questionable and problemtic especially for me. I give such weight to this concern because of my personal belief in the pureness of love, hailing not just from my fundamental Christian beliefs but even from Platonic (pre-Christian) notions of love as that which wills/desires for the good of everyone involved. The force then that drives the mother of Grace to will her child to life and to sustain her existence by monstrous means is not one that wills for the good all because of the evil (the non-good) that it allows/creates. This may be a purely theological/ideological concern in the film but one that I feel is central in nuancing it and what it says on what love is.

The Orphanage

I write this review of The Orphanage with such warm and fond recollection of the film, perhaps it was because it was one of the most emotionally-fulfilling horror films I have watched in recent years (the others include Pan's Labyrinth and The Others, funny they're all Spanish horror films).
Being a fan of the horror film genre, I have accustomed myself to being flooded with horrific imagery only to be left emotionally drained and wanting genuine human contact after viewing most horror films. The experience I had with viewing The Orphanage was the complete opposite. The sympathetic characters and their personal tragedies grab the attention from the very beginning, making the slow unraveling of the narrative and the discovery and illuminating of the main mystery a pleasant journey occassionally and expertly peppered by effective horror. One can discern the warmth that illuminates the film, making every intimate revelation of emotion, tragic or celebratory, ring true and compassionate.

The greatest draw perhaps for me, other than the glorious technical achievements in atmospheric lighting and sumptuous imagery, is the maternal love as the central theme of the film. This version of maternal love that will do every good thing possible for her child is a love more attuned to the one I believe in--the Christian and even Platonic (pre-Christian) concept of love that is that which desires only for the good of everyone--as opposed to the one presented in an earlier film screened in class, Grace. The self-sacrifice of the mother and the lengths to which she goes (but notice that they harm no others as opposed to the homicidal spree of Grace's mother) to find her son's whereabouts (plus the very very important fact that the child is not biologically hers, indeed an adopted one) plays a great and pregnant premise for much of the horror of the film, as the main mystery and the horror are situated in.

Oh I can go on gushing about how I love the film and how it is one of my favorites, but I guess everyone gets it by now...