A Chronicle of Corpses [Import]

This must be one of those new-fangled art house movies or some such. It's pure drivel, but every line, every movement is treated as if it encapsulates enlightenment itself. Watching A Chronicle of Corpses is like watching one of those nonsensical Calvin Klein ads - only this lasts almost an hour and a half and features no attractive women. Everything happens at the most mind-numbingly slowest of paces, and dramatic pauses are everywhere. When they actually talk, the characters rarely even look in the general direction of one another - they deliver most of their lines while turned to the side and staring off into space. Since this is so obviously artsy-fartsy, I tried to give the film the benefit of the doubt - but, after about an hour, I was purged of any good feelings whatsoever. And so it is that I declare A Chronicle of Corpses one of the most nonsensical, overly pretentious, staggeringly boring films I've ever encountered in my life. I don't know who these people are out there comparing this "visionary" film to the likes of Carnival of Souls or Night of the Living Dead. Andrew Repasky McElhinney, who was 22 when he made this film, is no George Romero - he's not even an Ed Wood. My theory is that the unprecedented pretentiousness of the film compels some folks (i.e., smarmy critics) to say they liked it rather than confess the truth. I would not recommend this film to any horror fan (or anyone else, for that matter). Take it from this horror fan - you will be disappointed in A Chronicle of Boredom - oops, I mean Corpses.

But wait, you say. It can't be THAT boring, can it? Yes, it is. Aren't there some murders in this film? Well, there are some murders, but you only get a remotely decent glimpse at one of them. As for the characters, I can assure you that you won't care one iota if any or all of them get killed. These aren't even proper characters; they're just people who keep walking in and out (in basically slow motion, of course) of the picture. They are supposedly some aristocratic family that has fallen on hard times at some point in the first half of the 19th century. Apparently, the ability to speak only in monotone is a genetic trait passed on from one generation to the next. Certain types of insects live, breed, and die inside the dramatic pauses that plague every conversation in this movie. What about the cinematography? Isn't it supposed to be very good? Well, may be it is, maybe it isn't. When the story is as excruciatingly boring as this is, who really cares about shadows and angles?

It's been a few years since I saw this film. The director was touring it around to colleges and the art house scene and I was very excited to see an independently produced horror film, and an arty independent horror film no less.
Unfortunately, I left disappointed. According to the filmmaker, the piece was envisioned as something that people would want to hang on their walls (now possible thanks to plasma screens) like a painting. This explains the excruciating long takes and the fact that there is a grand total of one moving shot in the whole thing. To some extend, the film succeeds on this level. There are some very pretty shots here and there and the historically accurate locations provide a great background. (It was filmed in and around historical sites preserved from colonial times.)
While the decent photography and beautiful locations elevate the film slightly, the writing pulls it back into the abyss. Arty intentions aside, the story boils down to the thoroughly exhausted slasher formula in which the characters are picked off one at a time by a psycho with an unconvincing back-story.
In the end A Chronicle of Corpses is an interestingly photographed but languidly paced period piece with a few clever ideas that can't rise above its unoriginal plotting.